


Cuffed to an Angel

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Cuffed 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Announcements, Awkward Castiel (Supernatural), Bisexual Dean Winchester, Brave Idiot Dean Winchester, Caring Dean Winchester, Castiel Being an Idiot, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Castiel Makes Friends, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Movie Watching, Christmas tree shopping, Comedy, Comforting Charlie, Confessions, Costumes, Countdown, Cowboys, Crying, Crying Castiel, Crying Dean, Crying Mary Winchester, Dean Being an Idiot, Dean Comes Out, Dean Winchester Has Panic Attacks, Dean Winchester puts his foot in his mouth, Dean in Panties, Dean tells the Truth, Decorating, Detective Castiel, Drunk Dean, Ellen and Mary are sisters, Emotions, Everyone Finds Out, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, Fancy Dining, Fluff, Gay Castiel, Getting to Know the Family, Heartbroken Castiel, Heartbroken Dean Winchester, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Castiel, Insecure Dean, Lonely Castiel, Lucifer stirs the pot, M/M, Mutual Pining, New Years Eve, New York City, OOC John Winchester, Office Party, Photo taking, Presents, Professor Dean Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Public Confrontations, Rich People Dinner Party, Rom-Com Tropes, Rom-com, Romance, Smitten Dean Winchester, Stories of Dean's childhood, Stubborn Castiel, Stubborn Dean Winchester, Surprise Gifts, Things get a bit meta, Timeskip, Touristy Things, Trivial Pursuit, Unwanted Family Reunions, Writer Dean Winchester, happy endings, mistletoe kiss, sharing the bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-02-14 21:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 72,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13016889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: Dean Winchester has a lot going for him: he's beloved by his students, he's finished writing his first book, and he's living comfortably in New York City. The only problem is... he's single. That wouldn't bother him much if his family wouldn't be visiting for the holidays. With cuffing season over, Dean has to face his family alone... or will he?Castiel DiAngelo is a simple detective who hasn't really celebrated Christmas in over 9 years, holidays and family being a sore spot for him. But after taking Dean up on an offer, he finds that you can't really avoid the holidays.Will these two be able to pull off a seminal holiday trope? Or will certain developments get in the way...





	1. Cuffed to Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays to y'all!
> 
> Getting into the Christmas spirt, I decided to do something fun - a Rom/Com chapter fic of Dean and Cas!
> 
> The idea came to me a few nights after my friend introduced me to the term 'cuffing' and the season 13 episode "Tombstone". So without further ado, please enjoy the first chapter!

            “Charlie, I’m telling you I’ll have it to you _before_ Christmas! I’m almost done… all I’ve got left to do is cross-reference a few sources and I’ll be sending it your way… Look, I’m sorry your boss is hounding you but think of it like this – you get to see more of _her_ and her, how did you put it, ‘ _tight ass’_ … don’t you? …I think this is the perfect time to be making jokes… Whatever, I’m almost home so we’ll talk later.”

            Dean ends the call before Charlie could get the last word, smiling as he tucks the phone back into his pocket. He readjusts the pizza box in his arms as he pulls his key out of his other pocket to open the door to his building. It’s a small complex in Astoria on 30th street – nothing fancy, but better than a lot of apartments Dean looked at when he first moved to New York nearly seven years ago.

            And he saw a _lot_ of apartments. Some he didn’t think should even be classified as a place to live. But thankfully he found a ‘ _reasonably_ ’ priced place two weeks before the semester started.

            Now, the apartment has become a home – his home – and Dean smiles fondly at it when he enters. He tosses his keys into the bowl by the doorway and scrapes off remnants of snow stuck to his boots. He unwraps his scarf and pulls off his hat before walking further in.

            It’s cozy… but _cramped,_ but that might have to do with all the papers and books Dean has lying around every flat surface. There are even a few on his sofa – and his armchair is completely unusable. The pile taking up that space is a practical fire hazard, as is most of his living room. It’s not his fault though. Writing takes up a lot of the free time he used to have for cleaning.

            ‘ _Something I should probably get back to doing_ …’ Dean thinks when he steps into the kitchen, staring at the other empty pizza boxes that are stacked unevenly on top of each other on his counter. He grimaces, glancing down at the fresh pizza he’s carrying. He tries to place it down, but there’s no room. What space that isn’t taken up by the boxes is covered in empty beer bottles and coffee mugs.

            “Dammit.”

            Dean moves back into the living room and places the box on his coffee table, sweeping his notes and his students’ papers to the side.

            He's taking off his jacket when he notices a small, red dot out of the corner of his eye.

            It’s his phone – more importantly, the answering machine; someone had left him a message. ' _Didn't think anyone did that anymore..._ ' He moves over and presses the button before continuing undressing. He hangs the coat on the coat rack by the door as his machine comes to life.

            “You have one new message.”

            ‘ _No shit._ ’

            “Dean,” it’s his ma, Mary, “How have you been? Have you been keeping warm? I read that this year is supposed to be really cold on the East Coast and I wouldn’t want you to be getting sick before going on break. We all know how bad you get when you’re sick.” Dean blushes, moving towards the kitchen to get a plate. He’s not the _worst_ person when he’s sick… but he does get whiny. “Anyway, how was Thanksgiving? Ours was nice… although we wish you could have made it. There was a lot of leftovers this year what with Sam trying this new _vegan_ diet – I don’t think it’s going to last but you know how they are out there in California.” Dean scoffs, smiling as he takes a huge bite out of his _meat_ -lovers pizza. “I’m rambling, aren’t I? Well, to get to the point, I have a big surprise… we’re coming to visit!” Dean chokes. He’s hacking over the recording of Mary’s voice. “Some time off… want to see you… Sam’s idea… the _whole family_ … can’t wait to see you! Call me back soon, love you dear!”

            “You have no new messages.”

            _Beep!_

            “…Fuck.”

            Dean slumps back against his sofa, his food forgotten on his lap. He scrubs a tired hand down his face, sighing.

            Dean loves his family. They were there for him when he was struggling throughout high school, pushing him towards graduation even though he wanted to drop out every other week. They were _proud_ of him when he did graduate and, to his surprise, was accepted into Kansas State University. They helped him save money and pay his way through four years of Undergrad and the three years he spent at KU’s School of Education. And when he applied for a teaching position at New York University on a whim after graduation, helped him pack and start his new life in the city.

            He loves his family. But they can be a bit… _much_.

            It’s not their fault, that’s who they are. And Dean doesn’t mind it, _really_. But holidays are another story.

            One of the reasons he missed Thanksgiving – besides finishing his book – was because he didn’t need the extra stress. He heard from Sam that he had to bear the brunt of it being the only one there. Ma asking him why he hadn’t proposed to Jessica yet, when he’ll be asking for a promotion, if the two have thought about children.

            It would have been worse for Dean, seeing as he’s the _single_ child.

            Seeing that he’s _still_  the single child.

            Writing takes up a _lot_ of free time.

            Dean digs out his phone, re-dialing Charlie’s number. “Dean?” she answers, “What’s the matter?”

            “Hey Charlie,” Dean starts, nervously chuckling, “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?”

            “…What is it?”

            “I wanted to ask if there _might_ be a way to… push... back... the deadline?” Silence. “Charlie?”

            “I’m sorry, Dean, you’re going to have to repeat that,” she says, “because either I had a _stroke_ or you asked me to push back your  _already_ generous deadline.”

            “I-uh… I did.”

            “Do you want me to be fired?” she asks him, “Do you like seeing me unemployed – is that it? Gives you a nice thrill?”

            “No, Charlie, it’s not that –“

            “Because we’ve already had to push your deadline back _twice_ and if we push it back even further we won’t have time to get it to publishing and all your hard work will be just that, Mr. Winchester!”

            Dean winces. She only calls him that when she’s really pissed at him. “Look, I’m sorry Charlie,” Dean starts, scratching at the back of his head, “I just… I panicked.”

            “What’s going on, Dean?”

            “I just found out my family is coming to visit –“

            “That’s great!” Charlie squeals, “I haven’t seen Sam in forever! Do you know when they’re coming?”

            “Uh – good question, but no – and it’s _not_ great!”

            “Why is it not _great_? Having your family around on Christmas sounds like the best way to celebrate finishing your book.”

            “It would be if my family wasn’t more stressful than writing this damned thing.”

            “…Is it because you’re single?”

            “…”

            “Is it because you’re _bi_ –”?

            “Like they know that!” Dean hisses, “I haven’t even begun thinking about opening that can of worms.” Dean’s sexuality is his little secret. He went out with girls in high school, fooled around a bit – just like all the other boys. But then he hooked up with a guy dressed up as Han Solo at a Halloween party his sophomore year of College. _Not_ like all the other boys. Still… it was _awesome_. And the start of a whole new world for Dean to explore.

            “Maybe – and this might sound crazy – but maybe you could… try talking to them about it?” Charlie says, “I mean holidays are good for these kinds of things. Everyone’s together and drunk on good cheer and alcohol that it makes the whole thing easy and quick.”

            “You make it sound so open and shut,” Dean sighs, “When really it’s open, me trying to shut while seven different hands keep prying at it to ask questions – like… really deep _personal_ questions. I don’t want to have to go through that.”

            “So what then? Stay single until everyone you know and love _dies_.”

            “…You know –“

            “Don’t even start, Dean,” Charlie sighs, “Look, as much as I love helping my fellow queers sort through their shit, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes with another client and they’re even worse with their deadline than you are so I really have to unleash Hell.”

            “Godspeed, Charlie.” She disconnects, and soon enough Dean is alone again. He sighs, and takes another bite of his now cold pizza. He attempts to finish it, but can’t, and he tosses the rest of the slice. He then takes the box and does the 'adult' thing – wrapping it up in tin foil for breakfast tomorrow.

            His mind whirls. Dean tries to distract himself with work – opening up his laptop to do some last minute touch-ups before it’s complete. But after reading the same sentence for the fifth time he realizes how futile any chance of work might seem.

            Dean looks out the window. It’s dark, and snowing lightly. He checks his fridge again to find it’s empty save for the pizza and a few Chinese delivery boxes.

            He heads over towards the door, shrugging on his jacket and retrieving his keys from the nearby bowl.

            ' _If I can't focus then I'll do the next best thing... get **blackout** drunk_.'

* * *

             Castiel muses, after his sixth drink, that he should be feeling some kind of buzz. He _had_ asked for their strongest drink. But given the dim lighting, rusty stools, and half-working juke box he might have been asking for a bit _too_ much.

            ‘ _Doesn’t matter_ ,’ Cas shrugs, signaling for another, ‘ _I’ll take what I can get._ ’

            The bartender slides the small glass over to Castiel, and he takes a sip of its clear liquid. It doesn’t burn going down, but the bitter taste still has Castiel twisting his mouth and pursing his lips. He pulls at his tie, loosening it and unbuttoning the top button on his shirt.

            He slumps further onto the counter, the sleeve of his trench coat flirting dangerously close to a puddle of whiskey that was spilled hours ago.

            ‘ _Not like today could get any worse_ ,’ he thinks, swirling the drink around in the glass. The invitation he received in the mail should have been an omen – truly. His brother knows he’s been banned from all family celebrations since the Fourth of July Catastrophe in ’08, but continues to taunt him all these years later. After that, his day _spiraled_.

            And now he’s here – in some no name dive in Greenwich. He takes another sip of his drink and shifts to get a more comfortable position on the bar to express his misery.

            ‘ _Funny_ ,’ Castiel thinks, ‘ _Either I’m starting to get tipsy… or that man is smiling at me._ ’ He wasn’t tipsy. Through his dingy glass, Castiel could just make out someone’s face. He pulls himself up to get a clearer look and- ‘ _Wow_.’

            He’s got these bright green eyes. They’re glassy, and roaming up and down Castiel’s body. He also has freckles – at least, Castiel _thinks_ he can see freckles. It’s hard with the flush the other man’s worked up on his skin. He’s leaning his chin on knuckles and pursing his plush, pink lips. He takes a long drink from his glass, focused somewhere near Castiel’s stool.

            Castiel motions for the bartender, pointing, “How many drinks have you given him?”

            “That guy?” the bartender chuckles, “ _Ten_.”

            Castiel sighs, but thanks him. He turns to look back at the other man and catches his eyes. The other man startles, spluttering and nearly spilling his drink. He tries to make it _look_ like he wasn’t caught staring, but _that_ cat is already out of its poorly constructed bag. He’s still looking at Castiel out of the corner of his eye.

            Castiel rolls his eyes, but gives the man a little wave and half-smile before turning back to the bar to ask for one more shot.

            Apparently, that was an invitation for something more – as he feels _someone_ taking the stool next to him at the bar.

            And by take, Castiel means nearly fall off and onto him while trying to sit.

            After righting himself, the man turns to Castiel and immediately props his elbow onto the whiskey puddle.

            “Howdy,” he says, deep voice rumbling in a Western drawl that’s odd for New York City.

            “…Hi?”

            “The name’s Winchester. Dean Winchester, and who might you be?”

            Castiel curses silently for his shitty luck again before responding. “James Bond.”

            “…Shit, for real?”

            The bartender bites back a chuckle, and Castiel glares at him to leave. He does, and Castiel turns back to Dean.

            “No,” he says, “My name is Castiel.”

            “Catsi… Casisel… Castle…” Dean stumbles, giggling, “That’s a pretty name but a mouthful. D’you mind if I call you _Cas_?”

            ‘ _I do, actually_ ,’ is what Castiel thinks. But then he takes another look at Dean. He’s sitting there, beaming and staring up at Castiel with this weird glow in his eyes. It makes Castiel feel weird and… _wanted_. Something he hasn’t felt in a while.

            “No,” he says, returning Dean’s large grin with a smaller, softer smile, “Not at all.”

            “ _Great_!” Dean cheers, throwing his cup to the sky and letting the beer slosh around a bit. Castiel’s smile drops and he grabs for Dean’s arm, pulling it down.

            “Maybe be a bit careful,” Castiel chuckles, “that could get everywhere.”

            “An’ you’re sweet, too,” Dean sighs, “Gorgeous… sweet… is there anything else I should know about you?”

            “I-uh… I’m surprisingly sober right now?”

            “Well that’s good,” Dean laughs, “One of us should be.”

            Castiel joins in, accompanying Dean’s laugh with his own awkward chuckle.

            “So,” Dean continues, catching his breath, “you single, Cas?”

            Dean searches, the smile gone from his face. Castiel chokes on his spit and turns away. _He’s_ blushing now, and glances up at Dean from between his lashes.

            “I’m – Well, I’m not… _not_ single?”

            “Huh?” Dean starts, only to shrug and take another sip, “Anyway… me? I’m single. So single… single like… like that chip. You know… it rhymes with single… single… single…”

            “Like a Prin-“

            “Lays!” Dean shouts, slapping Castiel on the back, “Like a Lays chip, that’s it!” He takes another sip. “I could really go for some chips right now.”

            “You could also do well with some sleep,” Castiel says, eyeing Dean as he tries to shake the remaining drops from his glass into his mouth. He does, and smacks his lips in satisfaction. He holds the empty glass to the bartender and shakes it.

            “I think you’ve had enough,” Castiel sighs, pulling Dean’s arm away from the bartender.

            “But I _need_ it,” Dean whines.

            “You don’t need it –“

            “But I do, Cas, f’real. I need it to – ” Dean continues, singing off-key, “to stop myself from thinkin’ ‘bout stuff!”

            Castiel turns to the bartender; “We’ll take the bill, if you don’t mind.”

            “Spoil sport,” Dean grumbles, reaching for his wallet. He opens it up and starts leafing through the bills. Castiel has already paid for his drink when he turns to see Dean still searching through his wallet.

            “Is there a problem?”

            “…I only have $12.”

            Castiel rolls his eyes once more, pulling out the rest of his money and covering for Dean.

            “Thanks Cas!” Dean chirps, “I could kiss ya!”

            “Please, don’t, you smell like the drunk tank after St. Patty’s Day.”

            Dean blinks at him. “S’that… s’that good?”

            “Goodnight Dean,” Castiel pushes away from the bar.

            He’s not even halfway out the bar before he feels someone collapsing into him. Thankfully, Castiel catches Dean before they’re both sprawled out on the ground.

            “Yes?”

            “Am I really that bad a’company?”

            Castiel looks down at Dean and nearly bites back a curse. There’s tears starting to form, and Dean’s bottom lip pushes out and pouts. He looks around the bar and can see some of the patrons eyeing them up even more than they already were. Sighing, Castiel drags Dean out of the bar and into the chilly, night air.

            “Did you drive here?”

            “Wha’?”

            Castiel leans Dean on the outside wall of the bar. He’s zipping Dean’s jacket, asking, “Did you drive here?”

            “N-no,” Dean says, “Wouldn’t risk Baby out in this weather.”

            “Okay, I don’t drive so,” Castiel says, pulling out his phone, “What’s your address?”

            “Why?” Dean smirks, leaning into Castiel, “You taking me home?”

            “Yes –“

            “ _Oooo_ –“

            “Not like that,” Castiel snaps, pulling up Uber, “I’m taking you home so I know you got there and that you didn’t die stumbling into the train tracks.”

            “…You’re really thoughtful, y’know,” Dean says, smiling, “A _true_ gentleman.”

            “I’m something alright,” Castiel grumbles to himself, “Some kind of _idiot_ …” He looks up at Dean, “Address?”

            Dean rattles off the location and Castiel types it into his phone. It doesn’t take long for someone to accept – there’s practically no one out. He didn’t realize how late it was, but thankfully that’s a positive. “Alright, the Uber should be coming in – Dean? Dean!”

            Castiel turns around, finding Dean leaning far too out into traffic than he should. He has his thumb tucked out and is humming to himself. Castiel curses and grabs him by the shoulder, pulling him back and into him. “Mmm… _warm_.”

            “Could you please stay still,” Castiel says, pulling Dean closer and upright, “Our ride will be here in five minutes.”

            “Our?” Dean blinks, smiling. “Our…” he says again, as if tasting the word for the first time. By the gleam in his eyes, Castiel can tell he likes it.

            “Yes, our,” Castiel says, “Because you need to go home to –“

            “To fuck!”

            Castiel looks around, embarrassed. Dean had practically shouted, and he didn’t want any more odd looks thrown their way. The bar was more than enough for Castiel in one night.

            “To _sleep_ ,” Castiel hushes, pressing his finger to Dean’s lips. Dean smiles and kisses Castiel’s finger. His face heats up, and he pulls it away. The feeling from earlier starts to bubble up again – with the way Dean is looking at him. Castiel wants to say something, anything, but his mind is strangely blank. Dean’s still giggling, swaying in Castiel’s arms. Castiel opens his mouth when –

            _Honk!_

            They turn to see a 2014 Honda Accord idling nearby. The passenger window is rolled down and the driver is leaning towards it form his seat.

            “Are you Cassiel?”

            Castiel rolls his eyes, “Something like that.” He lets go of Dean and leads him towards the car, “Come on.”

            “Okay.” Dean opens the car door and practically crawls into it as Castiel watches. Castiel scrubs a hand down his face before entering normally. He buckles and turns to find Dean having trouble with his seatbelt. He sighs and moves to help Dean.

            When he’s done, Castiel locks eyes with their driver through the rearview mirror. He jerks his thumb at Dean, “He drunk?”

            “Unfortunately.”

            “Well,” the driver hums, “if your boyfriend pukes – you’re paying for it.”

            “He’s not my,” Castiel sighs, shaking his head, “Never mind. Just go.”

            “Whatever.”

            It’s quiet for a good five minutes before Castiel feels Dean drop his chin onto his shoulder. He looks over to see Dean grinning at him.

            “What?”

            “You didn’t deny it.”

            “Deny what?”

            “Being my _boyfriend_ ,” Dean whisper-sings, “Is that because you want to?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous,” Castiel mutters, “It’s not like he cares.”

            “But you do,” Dean yawns, removing his chin and relaxing more into Castiel’s side, “I do, too. I think you’d make a great boyfriend.” And like that, Dean slips into a light sleep. Castiel just stares, his heart skipping every other beat.

* * *

             Castiel practically carries Dean to his apartment. When the Uber pulled up to Dean’s complex, Castiel had trouble waking him up. The trouble _was_ that he didn't respond. Their driver was getting more annoyed, so finally, Castiel dragged him out of the car and threw his arm over his shoulders.

            Now, standing in front of Dean’s door, Castiel is at a lost. He can’t buzz his way into this one. He eyes Dean, and sighs. He checks his coat pockets first, only to come up empty. “Of course,” Castiel mumbles, “why would this be easy?”

            He has his hand in Dean’s left pocket when he finally comes to. He hums and leans more into Cas’s space. “I thought you said you weren’t going to fuck me?”

            “Seriously,” Castiel pulls his hand away, “You wake up now?”

            “I was asleep?”

            “Never mind,” he sighs, “Where are your keys?”

            “You were close,” Dean smirks, knocking his head into Castiel’s, “just had to go _deeper_.”

            Castiel finds Dean’s keys in no time, and lets himself into his apartment.

            “Were you trying to find something?”

            “Huh?” Dean asks, looking around at his mess, “Oh… no, I’ve been writing a book.”

            Castiel looks at Dean. “A book?”

            “Yeah,” Dean nods, “Almost done, too.”

            “Congratulations, then.”

            Castiel moves Dean further into the room, while Dean starts to babble.

            “-probably start cleaning anyway,” Dean mumbles, “I got m’family coming.”

            “Family for Christmas?” Castiel chuckles darkly, “Someone’s lucky.”

            “Not really,” Dean says, “Otherwise I wouldn’t have been drinking.”

            Castiel stops. He shoots Dean a weird look, “ _That’s_ why you were drinking?”

            “Yeah,” Dean chuckles, “Drinking to escape m’problems.” His eyes light up, “Someone should invent, like – a word for that!”

            “I think alcoholism already exists, Dean,” Castiel says, continuing further into his apartment. He finds the bedroom door and props it open. It’s neater than his living room, but there’s still a few books lying about, and a pile of laundry sits untouched in the corner. His bed is only faintly messy. Castiel flicks the light on and shuffles them in.

            “So,” Castiel continues, “why is your family coming such a problem?” He shoots Dean a sad look, “Do they… not approve of your lifestyle?”

            “If by that you mean being single then yeah,” Dean sighs, letting go of Castiel and collapsing onto his bed face first. He rolls over and kicks his legs, trying to shuck his boots off. Castiel smiles and kneels to help Dean.

            “Stop kicking,” Castiel says, “So they’re okay with you… having a boyfriend?”

            “I don’t know,” Dean shrugs, “Never asked them if they’d be okay.”

            “You haven’t told them you like men?”

            “Bingo!”

            Castiel pulls Dean’s other boot off and places the pair near Dean’s dresser. Dean sits up up, slipping his jacket off and playing with the buttons of his shirt. “So they… want you to be happy?”

            “They want me to not be _alone_ , I guess,” Dean sighs, “Which, I get. But I’m okay with being alone. ‘M doing fine… most of the time… but they don’t need to be in my business about it. If only I could get them to stop riding my ass so hard. It’s no fun when _they_ do it.”

            “At least you’re lucky to have a family who cares about whether you’re lonely or not,” Castiel says, sitting down next to Dean and helping him with his shirt, “I haven’t spoken to my parents in years.”

            “Dude,” Dean says, “that sucks.”

            “Indeed, it does.”

            “So you’re lonely, too?”

            “I… guess.”

            Dean stares at Castiel, licking his lips. His eyes duck down to stare at the other man’s lips before looking up into Castiel’s blue eyes. Suddenly, an idea waltzes into his drunken mind.

            “We should be lonely together!”

            “Pardon –?”

            “I mean,” Dean continues, “we should date – for the holidays, at least! You can be my boyfriend for when my family comes to town! Then they’ll see that I’m doing fine on m’own and not worry so much!”

            “I don’t see what I’ll be getting out of this, Dean,” Castiel points out, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

            “Well… you won’t be alone for Christmas,” Dean shrugs, smiling, “No one should be alone on the holidays.”

            Castiel startles. He turns away from Dean, hiding his blush. But he can’t hide from Dean.

            He leans over and pecks Castiel’s cheek before crawling to his pillow.

            “You don’t deserve to be alone, Cas,” Dean whispers before he slips back under. Castiel stares at him, unnerved. He’s lightly touching his cheek, the press of Dean’s lips still singed into his stubble. Castiel shakes his head and gets up.

            He heads toward the door, stopping when he grabs hold of the knob. He looks back at Dean’s bedroom door. He’s lightly snoring, and Castiel can’t help but smile.

            ‘ _He’s going to be dehydrated when he wakes up…_ ’

            Castiel sighs and turns on his heel, walking towards the kitchen. Navigating around the mess, he manages to find one clean glass and fills it with some water before returning to Dean’s room.

            He places it on a nearby nightstand and smiles down at Dean.

            He’s going to leave again when he eyes the dresser. Castiel moves towards it, picking up one of many picture frames that line the oak furniture.

            Dean is there – albeit younger. Behind him a blonde woman and a raven hair man stand smiling, his parents from the looks of it. There’s also another boy, with longer hair than Dean, grinning just as wide. Dean’s in a dark robe and wide-brim hat, and from the tassels it looks like a graduation.

            There are other pictures – one with a small woman with bright red hair, another with another older man in a baseball cap, and an older and younger woman eyeing Dean from behind a bar.

            Castiel puts the pictures back and looks at Dean.

            “I can’t believe I’m doing this…”

            He moves into the living room, plucking a stray piece of paper and a pen from the table and walking back into Dean’s bedroom. He scribbles something on there and places it under the glass on the nightstand.

            Castiel feels lighter than air as he leaves Dean’s apartment.

            He’s outside the complex, waiting for another Uber to take him to his place in the Village. It’s a long wait – not that many Ubers in Astoria. The wind has picked up, and more snow starts to fall outside.

            Castiel isn’t cold, though. Something keeps him warm – keeps him smiling.

            ‘ _You don’t deserve to be alone._ ’


	2. Cuffed to a Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 coming at ya!

            Dean is never drinking again. He knows he said that the last time he went out, but this time he’s going to stick to his word.

            …At least he’ll try.

            “Ugh, my head,” Dean groans, smacking his lips together, “ugh, my _mouth_.” He tries to get up slowly, every inch of his body screaming in protest. His vision is spinning and just sitting upright is too much of a hassle. He kneads at his eyes with his palms, trying to adjust to the morning light. It takes a few minutes, but soon enough Dean can see more than just vague shapes and blurs.

            Like the suspicious glass of water he spies sitting on his nightstand.

            “What?”

            Dean picks it up and takes a sip, then a gulp. Then, he practically drains it of every last drop. He pulls it away and gasps for breath, wiping away some wetness that clung to the side of his mouth.

            “I _so_ needed that…”

            He’s almost puts it back down when he soon spies a folded piece of paper that must have been underneath it. Cocking a brow, Dean reaches over and opens it up.

            _Dean,_

_I’ll take you up on your offer. Call me when you can._

_347-923-8990_

_-C.D._

            He blinks at the letter, reading it again, and then a third time. By the sixth time, he looks up and inhales sharply.

            “Shit,” he mutters, “What the _fuck_ did I do last night?”

            His mind is a blur – he doesn’t even remember coming home. One second he was boozing down at his favorite dive and the next thing he remembers is – well, reading the goddamned note.

            ‘ _C.D…_ ’ Dean thinks, ‘ _Who are you?_ ’

            Sighing, Dean places the note back onto his nightstand and scrubs both hands down his face. He stands, groaning, and heads towards his bathroom.

            ‘ _I’ll worry about this later_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _First… I need a shower_.’

            He undresses, wincing at the musty odor clinging to his undershirt. His jeans aren’t that bad, but they take forever to peel off.

            Soon enough, Dean steps under the hot water and sighs in relief. Whereas drinking helps him not think, showers are the complete opposite. His mind shifts into overdrive, and Dean tries to recall what happened the night before.

            Unfortunately, it doesn’t help that much. The only other image he can conjure up from the night before is a tan trench coat, which leaves him with more questions than answers.

            “You did a damned good job of getting fucked up, Winchester,” Dean sighs, shutting off the water, “Seriously, A-plus.” He steps out of the shower and reaches for a towel. He pats at his face, looking at it in the mirror. His skin is a little paler than usual – just enough that his freckles stand out as well as the bags under his eyes. He takes the towel and wraps it around his head before reaching behind the mirror for some ibuprofen. He swallows them, and then palms some water from his sink to wash the pills down.

            Slapping his face a few times, Dean steps back into his bedroom to let the cool air dry his body.

            He picks up his jacket and pulls out his phone before picking the note back up. He reads it again, staring at the numbers. He’s playing with his phone – turning it on and off and on and off.

            He makes a decision.

            “You better have a good reason to be calling me, Winchester,” Charlie says, “Like that you’ll be sending me your book, pronto.”

            “I will… later –“

            “Later –“!

            “But, I need to ask you something!”

            “…Make it quick, Dean.”

            “Okay, so… look. Hypothetically, let’s say you get… completely hammered. So much so that you don’t remember _anything_ that happens,” Dean says, pacing his room, “Anyway, you wake up to find a note that says someone is taking you up on your offer and a number. Would you call the number or not?”

            “…Are you telling me you _chose_ to go drinking last night instead of finishing your book?”

            “Charlie I’ll finish the damned book, all right!” Dean shouts, “But first I need to make sure I didn’t do something stupid!”

            “Dean, if drunk you was in control then it was most likely something stupid,” Charlie sighs, “Remember when you had too many Long Island Ice Teas last Halloween and thought all windows were made of Plexiglas?”

            “I might…”

            “Then you remember that we had to spend the rest of the night in the hospital getting stiches for your hand!”

            “Okay, I get it, drunk me isn’t the best at making decisions.”

            Charlie scoffs, “Neither is sober you…”

            “Watch it,” Dean scolds, “Anyway, what should I do? Should I call the number?”

            “Call the random number from the person you don’t remember meeting,” Charlie says, “That sounds like the perfect plan if you want to get murdered in an alley somewhere in New Jersey.”

            “He can’t be that bad,” Dean starts, “I mean, he did bring me back to my apartment.” Dean’s eyes widen. “Crap,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair, “he was in my apartment.”

            “Do you think he could have stolen something?”

            “If he could have found it,” Dean sighs, “God my place is a mess.”

            “That’s what you’re worried about?” Charlie asks, “Not the fact that a total stranger knows where you live and agreed to something your drunk ass asked them to – but that they saw your _mess_?”

            “Listen, they could have killed me if they wanted to,” Dean sighs, “But instead they take me home and leave me a glass of water for when I wake up. Does that sound like someone who's a murderer or worse… who lives in _Jersey_?”

            “…No,” Charlie replies, “So it sounds like you’re gonna call this person?”

            “I guess?” Dean says, sitting down on his bed, “I do want to know who this person is – I have to thank them. Plus, I want to know what kind of offer I made.” His eyes widen, “I hope it wasn’t sexual.”

            “If it was I doubt you’d have been in that bed alone,” Charlie says, “Now shoo, finish checking your facts so I can have something to turn into my boss later today.”

            Dean pulls his phone away from his ear and stares at it. He takes a deep breath before he pounds the number of C.D. The ringing seems to go on forever. Dean’s tapping his foot erratically, chewing on his lip, waiting for anyone to answer. When they do, he wasn’t expecting… _that_.

            “Hello?”

            The deep, gravelly voice instantly sends a chill down Dean’s spine. His face flushes.

            “H-hey,” Dean says, swallowing, “Um… this is Dean. I’m just… doing what the note says.” He offers a pitiable laugh.

            “Dean,” the voice continues, confirming Dean’s suspicion, “How are you feeling?”

            “Better,” Dean shrugs, “Woke up awful. Thanks for the water – and for, uh… everything else.”

            “You were a mess at the bar last night,” the man chuckles, “it’d be a crime to let you out of my sight.”

            “Cool, cool,” Dean nods, tapping his feet against the floor, “So, look, about my… offer.”

            “Right,” the man nods, “I was wondering when you’d get to that. Look, we should probably discuss this in person. I don’t have a break until 3 o’clock. Would you care to join me for a late lunch?”

            “No – not at all!” Dean laughs, “I, uh… I’d love to!”

            “Great, you can meet me at…”

            Dean nods, taking a nearby pen and writing the address on the other side of C.D.’s note.

            “I’m really glad you called, Dean,” C.D. says, “I was worried you might wake up and not even remember anything from last night. You were pretty far gone.”

            “Well… what can I say,” Dean laughs, “I got the mind of a steel trap.” They bid each other goodbye not too long after that. Dean gulps and leans back on his hands. “…Fuck.”

            He doesn’t know why he did that. He had an out – a chance to admit that, not only did he _not_ know what his offer was, but that he also had no clue who he was talking to. The voice did bring back a few other memories, however. They were all words, no visual component to them at all. But whoever he is he was one sassy bastard, that’s for sure.

            Dean gets up and heads towards his drawers. He pulls out some slacks and a Henley and pulls them on, getting dressed for the day. He also chances a look at his alarm clock: 10:23.

            “Thank God I don’t have class until tomorrow,” Dean mutters walking out of his room. He looks around and places his fists on his hips.

            He’s got time to kill, and depending on how the meeting goes, he doesn’t want to have C.D. think he’s a slob.

* * *

             Castiel hangs up, smiling down at his phone. The butterflies in his stomach that have been churning since he woke up have calmed down. He’ll admit that he was having second thoughts about his note the minute he got into Uber. His drive back was just him listing all the reasons why Dean’s plan wouldn’t work or how it could go wrong.

            But each time he thought of calling it off, he remembered that picture of Dean’s family and words.

            He had missed celebrating the holidays with others. After his family practically ex-communicated him, there was no one for him to celebrate with. He didn’t particularly have any friends before, and after… he didn’t try to make any.

            That doesn’t stop his partner.

            “What’cha smiling at Clarence?” Meg asks from her desk. She’s leaning on her hands, smirking at him.

            “Nothing,” he says, pocketing his phone.

            “…Right, because to me it sounded like someone’s got a _date_.”

            “It’s not a date. I _am_ meeting someone, but it’s to discuss a deal –“

            “I’d be careful if I were you,” Meg laughs, leaning back in her seat, “You know how the Chief’s ears perk up when he hears that word.”

            She’s right. Chief Crowley, their boss, while being on the right side of the law just _loves_ things like gambling, bets, and _especially_ deals.

            “To discuss a… plan,” Castiel chooses his words carefully, “for the holidays.”

            “You holding out on me, Clarence?” Meg frowns, squinting at him, “Just what are you ‘planning’?”

            “Nothing that concerns you, Meg,” Castiel stands, “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

            Meg crosses her arms and pouts. “Black,” she says, “But don’t think this means I’ll stop pestering you!”

            “I’ve lost any hope of that happening,” Castiel fires back, walking away from her. He passes a few other officers, nodding hello before he makes it to the Keurig in the Break Room. It doesn’t take long for the coffee to brew, but he lets his mind drift back to Dean.

            He doesn’t know what Dean will be like sober. But he does have some idea of who he is. The Internet is a wonderful thing and, coupled with his training, he was able to glean a few pieces of information about him.

            Dean wasn’t kidding when he said he was writing a book. There was an entire article about him in the Washington Square News. Apparently the book has been a passion project he was working on since his early days in his PhD program. He was also a professor beloved by _all_ his students. His main focus was history, but he wasn’t able to determine just _what_ he teaches. Probably because all the reviews from ‘Rate My Professor’ only talk about his _gorgeous_ green eyes and _perfect_ jawline and _cute_ drawl.

            They’re not wrong – but he wants to find out things he doesn’t already know.

            “You like your coffee cold, Detective?”

            Castiel startles, turning to find Chief Crowley behind him. He’s got a brow raised and is smirking at him.

            “Sorry, Chief,” Castiel mutters, pulling the coffee cups away. He heads towards the cream and sugar while Crowley gets his coffee. Crowley drums his fingers on the counter, waiting, while Castiel rips open a packet of sugar. Then another, and another: after his fifth packet he adds the cream.

            “It’s not like you to be distracted,” Crowley starts, “Is there something on your mind?”

            “No, Chief,” he says, “nothing that’s important.”

            “Well that’s good, seeing as I need your mind to be sharp.”

            “Chief?”

            “I just dropped a case on your desk. You and Masters need to look into a robbery on 44th and 8th. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

            “We’ll get right on that.”

            “Glad to hear,” Crowley smirks. He takes a sip of his piping hot coffee, and then turns on his heel. “Pray you’ll be done before your date!”

            Castiel gapes after him.

            “…How does he do that?” 

* * *

            Dean stands rooted to the spot, staring at the place C.D. asked him to meet at. He pulls out the note from earlier and looks down at the address. It matches the one he put into his phone that led him there, and the numbers both match the street numbers _and_ the building’s numbers. It’s a small deli, wedged between a Starbucks and a gift shop. Dean pockets the note again and enters. He wipes his boots across the carpet and pulls his hat off, looking around. No one he sees sparks any memory.

            But he does see a menu, and that jumpstarts his stomach. It gurgles, and he pats at it.

            “Don’t worry buddy,” he whispers, “I’ll get ya something.” Even though it’s past lunchtime, he wasn’t able to eat anything. His mind was too focused on either his book or on cleaning or C.D.

            “What will you have?”

            Dean’s searching the menu until his eyes land on exactly what he wants. “I’ll have the hamburger deluxe – medium well,” he tells the girl, “and can you make the fries curly fries?”

            “That’ll be an extra $0.75.”

            “Worth it.”

            Dean steps back, but hits into a solid figure. Dean turns.

            “Sorry – woah…”

            Dean is stunned. The man he had banged into was… _gorgeous_. There was no other way to describe him. His dark hair was styled messily, as if he spent the entire morning just raking his fingers through it. He’s rocking a serious five o’clock shadow and was blessed with a soft-looking pair of lips. And his eyes… there’s no name for the shade of blue they are.

            Dean’s trying to regain his senses, but he’s soon floored yet again when the man smiles at him.

            “Hello Dean,” he says, “I’m happy to see you again.”

            ‘ _Holy crap,_ _ **he’s** C.D.?’ _ “Yeah,” Dean mumbles, blushing, “It’s great seeing you, too…”

            C.D. tilts his head, squinting. “Is something the matter?”

            “No, no, it’s just…” Dean bites his lip, “you look… really good today.”

            “Thank you,” he nods, “Would you like to join me?” He motions to a nearby table in the back – out of sight from nearly everyone.

            ‘ _No wonder I didn’t see him,’_ Dean thinks before looking at C.D. and jerking his thumb at the counter, “In a minute, waiting for my food.”

            He glances behind Dean then nods at him, before returning to his seat, “I’ll be here when you get it.”

            Dean nods in return; spinning around so C.D. won’t see the fierce blush he’s working up. He starts to sway, trying as hard as he could to remember anything about last night before he has to talk even _more_ to C.D.

            …Like his name, for starters.

            Time isn’t on his side, because just as he begins to focus, the girl is calling out his order, handing him his tin. Dean takes it and grimaces before moving towards C.D.’s table.

            C.D. looks up from his own sandwich as Dean makes his way over and smiles. It’s a chicken club, and it looks pretty damn tasty. ‘ _Maybe I should have gotten that_.’

            “I know,” C.D. chuckles, wiping at his mouth, “the food here is really good. Plus, it offers a discount for officers.”

            “So you’re a cop?” Dean asks, getting his food out.

            “Well… used to be,” C.D. shrugs, “I’m a _detective_.”

            “No friggin’ way,” Dean gapes, eyes widening, “That’s so cool!” His eyes light up, “Is that what the ‘D’ stands for in your note?”

            C.D. blushes and looks away. He scratches at his cheek and smiles. “My apologies, that’s just how I usually sign off on messages. They’re my initials – the… ‘D’ is for my last name, DiAngelo.”

            “DiAngelo?” Dean chuckles, swallowing around a piece of his burger, “Fitting… you sure do got the face of an angel.”

            DiAngelo’s flush grows only fiercer. “Just as precocious now as you were drunk I see,” he mumbles.

            “What can I say,” Dean shrugs, taking another bite of his burger, chewing, “I’m a charmer.”

            DiAngelo raises a brow.

            “Wha’” Dean says, bits of food flying out of his mouth, “Got somethin’ on my face?”

            “Never mind,” DiAngelo says, taking a bite of his own sandwich. They sit and eat, neither wishing to speak next. It’s an awkward silence, filled with stolen glances and worried thoughts.

            “So,” DiAngelo starts again, “About your… book!”

            “My book?” Dean asks.

            “Yes… your book,” DiAngelo says, deflating, “you said you were writing it… how far along are you?”

            “Just finished it actually,” Dean chuckles, “Checked a few facts, made some edits, and I shipped it to my editor who will no doubt tear it to shreds and re-structure it before sending it to the press –“ He stops, as if a huge weight has settled into his stomach. “Was… was that what my offer was about,” Dean asks, “Did I… promise you a copy of my book?”

            DiAngelo blinks at him. His face betrays no emotion, and Dean can’t help but let his mind whirlwind out of control. That weight has become a black hole, sucking up all the good feelings he had about this. He’s not even hungry anymore, pushing his food away.

            “Look, I’ll find out when that is later,” Dean starts, getting up, “I have your number so –“

            “No!" DiAngelo’s hand shoots out and grabs Dean’s wrist, trapping him. “I’m… sorry,” DiAngelo says, face turned away, “I didn’t mean to… I should have…” He looks up, “Do you remember what happened last night?”

            Dean gnaws at his lip again. “No,” he says slowly, “To be honest… I don’t even know your name.”

            DiAngelo looks pained, but soon enough he hides it so Dean can’t see it anymore.

            “Then where are my manners,” DiAngelo says, letting go, “I… should have introduced myself properly. My name is _Castiel_ DiAngelo.”

            Dean settles back down and raises a brow at Castiel. “That’s a pretty fancy name there, Cas,” he chuckles, then freezes, looking up at Castiel, “Shit, are you okay with that? Or are you one of those guys who hates nicknames.”

            “No I… I don’t mind,” Castiel says, blushing, “In fact, Cas was much easier for you when you were drunk as well.”

            “Sorry if I butchered it –“

            “You tried,” Castiel shrugs, “Some people don’t bother.”

            “Cool… cool.”

            Dean picks at his fries while Castiel cleans up his own meal. Dean hazards a look at Castiel – _Cas_ – through his lashes. His motions are awkward and choppy, like he doesn’t know what to do with his body.

            “So,” Dean says, scratching at his neck, “What happened when I was…”

            “Wasted?”

            “ _Under the influence_ ,” Dean glares, pressing his mouth into a hard line.

            “Well,” Cas starts, folding his hands in front of his face, “I don’t know about most of your evening… but by the time I met you, you were… really gone. You tried to flirt… _really_ badly.”

            “Now hold on –“

            “And you could also barely stand. I… took you home so I wouldn’t feel guilty if I had just abandoned you there.”

            “Ouch,” Dean mutters weakly, “It wasn’t because of my good looks?”

            “You don’t need me to tell you how attractive you are,” Castiel says, “Your students already do enough of that.”

            “…How do you know –“

            “Anyway,” Cas continues, blushing, “After I got you to your apartment I helped you undress and got you some water and I left…”

            “After…”

            “After…?”

            “After writing me that note,” Dean says, pulling it out, “Where you said that you… _agreed_? To an offer _I_ made you?”

            “Look, Dean,” Cas starts, “I just wanted to make sure you were alive in the morning – you were far gone and _I_ was feeling a little tipsy, so I don’t think we can really hold ourselves to anything we might have said when we were drunk –“

            “What did I say?” Dean demands, leaning forward on the table.

            “Really, Dean, it’s –“

            “What… did… I… _say_?”

            “You – uh, you proposed that _we_ …” Castiel motions between the two of them, “we should… pretend to be together for the… for the holidays.”

            A pin could drop between them – that’s how silent it was. Dean didn’t have a pin, so his jaw was a practical substitute. “You,” Dean starts, “You agreed to do that? To date _me_?”

            “ _Only_ for the holidays,” Cas continues, looking away, “You said that it’d be the perfect way to both come out to your family and let them think you’re doing okay.”

            Dean squints, “And what are you getting from this?”

            “Look, it doesn’t matter,” Cas says, “Obviously you’re having second thoughts –“

            “I’m not.”

            Cas does a double take. Now he’s having a hard time keeping his chin from hitting the table.

            “You’re,” Cas gulps, “You’re not?”

            “I mean – maybe?” Dean shrugs, “This plan seems a bit too-much like a cheesy Hallmark movie you usually see playing this time of year but… if it works on TV?”

            “So you think we should still do this?”

            “I mean – you look like you’d be one _hell_ of a catch Cas,” Dean smiles, “And you already said yes. So… might as well see if we can make this work.”

            “You are… very trusting,” Cas laughs, his whole body shaking in mirth.

            “Trusting’s a nice word,” Dean shrugs, “Most people would just call me an idiot.”

            “I don’t know,” Cas says, “if anyone here is the idiot, it’s probably me.”

            “Hey,” Dean chuckles, “no take-backs!”

            “I know,” Cas sighs, looking at his watch, “Listen, I’ll have to return to my shift soon. You have my number… I have yours. Do you know when your family will be coming?”

            “I… I should, shouldn’t I?”

            “Why don’t you text me a time for us to meet,” Cas says standing up, “We can work out more of the details later.”

            “That sounds great, Cas!” Dean joins him, picking up his trash. They exit, standing inches apart in the middle of the sidewalk.

            “Here’s to hoping this goes off well,” Dean says, grinning.

            “As well as it can given the situation,” Cas says, rolling his eyes.

            They stand there, unsure of what to do next. Dean is flexing his hand, debating if a handshake would be the appropriate way to end a meeting with someone who is agreeing to be his – quote _unquote_ boyfriend.

            “Should we –“

            “Are you okay if I –“

            They stop, giggling at having interrupted each other.

            “I’m just going to,” Cas steps forward, into Dean’s space. Dean feels his heart stop, and he can’t keep from gazing into Cas’s eyes. Cas doesn’t stop, and quickly pecks Dean on the lips. He hovers near Dean’s face after, looking at him strangely.

            “Was that,” Cas starts, licking his lips, “Was that okay?”

            “Yeah,” Dean whispers, voice warbled. He clears his throat, “I mean, we’ll have to work on it but… good start.”

            “Okay,” Cas smiles, stepping back. “I’ll just,” he jerks his thumb behind him, “I have to –“

            “’S’all good,” Dean chuckles, “Get back to work.”

            “Okay,” Cas says, nodding, “Okay. Goodbye, Dean.”

            “See ya, Cas.”

            Dean watches Cas walk away, his tan trench coat fanning out behind him as if they were wings. When he sees it disappear behind the corner, he slumps over and lets out a strangled breath.

            ‘ _Holy crap_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _What the hell did I just do?_ ’

            This seems like such a terrible idea – a classic _Drunk Dean_ idea. But… the detective with the heavenly blue eyes and the sexiest voice Dean’s ever heard decided to go along with it. He doesn’t know _why_ he said yes but… that doesn’t matter to him so much. Maybe he actually _wants_ to spend more time with him?

            It’s not like Dean’s lonely – he’s got friends. But when Cas kissed him it was… it was… it was something. It wasn’t the best kiss – it felt too ‘middle school crush’ and was over all too quickly. But he’s still reeling from it so… Dean doesn’t know what to think.

            All he knows is that he wants to be close to Cas, for as long as he’ll let him. Since, as Cas reminded him, it would only be for the holidays. Because Cas  _obviously_ needs something from Dean as much as Dean does from him.

            ‘ _That’s all this is, Winchester_ ,’ Dean thinks sadly, walking back to where he left Baby, ‘ _Besides, you aren’t lucky enough to land a guy like him anyway…_ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like? Drop a kudos and a comment to let me know!


	3. Cuffed to a Plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 coming at ya!

            Castiel could only make it around the corner before his legs gave out. He collapses against an old brick stone building, knocks his head back against it and takes a deep breath. It comes out as a hiss, and he lightly grazes his fingers against his lip. He pulls back as if burned.

            And he probably was – his lips were still on fire after pressing them against Dean’s.

            ‘ _Why would I do that_ ,’ Castiel thinks. He pushes himself off the building and continues towards work. Castiel knew he had to do something to say goodbye – it would have felt weird to leave it hanging like that. But a kiss…

            That was the boldest thing he’s done since the Fourth of July Catastrophe of ’08.

            And he’s a _detective_.

            The entire walk to work, he obsesses over the fraction of a second where Dean’s lips touched his. He’s lost in his thoughts, and doesn’t see his partner when he passes right by his precinct.

            “Clarence!” she shouts, “Where ya’ going?”

            Castiel stops, whirling around. He blinks at her then stares up at the building before looking back to her. She’s waiting for an answer, her arms crossed and tapping her boot on the pavement.

            “My apologies,” he says, walking back towards her, “I was… thinking.”

            “Well stop thinking,” she snarks, punching him lightly on the shoulder, “We’re on the clock. Chief wants us to head out Uptown – possible arson?”

            “Of course,” Castiel grumbles, scratching at his cheek, “Do you want to drive or should I?”

            “I think I’ll take the wheel,” she says, “ don’t want to become another statistic in absentminded driving.”

            Castiel glares, but follows her towards the car. He gets in and buckles, gripping the handle above the door for safety. It’s a minute before he looks over to see Meg leaning against the wheel, giving him the strangest of looks.

            “What?”

            “So, uh… what went on with your meeting?”

            “ _Nothing_ ,” he says, “Just a simple meeting between two friends –“

            “Liar,” Meg hisses, smiling, “You don’t have any friends.”

            “He’s _new,_ ” Castiel says, turning away, “Can we please just go?”

            “Alright, alright, no need to get your feathers in a twist,” she says, revving the engine. “But I will find out. It’s, uh – kind of my _job_.”

            “Good luck then.”

            They drive out, and Castiel falls back into his head, and doesn’t stop thinking of Dean until they come to a full stop. 

* * *

             No one wanted to be in the Lecture Hall today – not even Dean. He stumbled through his last lecture on the effects of cowboy history in pop culture, glad to see most of his students were on their laptops for once and not watching him.

            “And, because next week we’ll have our final class,” Dean starts, perking the interest of the class, “I’ve decided to be nice and show a movie –“ The shift is instantaneous. There’s clapping and whooping – he thinks he hears a whistle. “All right, settle down,” he laughs, walking back towards the desk, “It’s mainly so I don’t have to come up with anything else to teach you since I’ve covered everything I practically know.” He leans down to pick up his bag and begins rummaging inside. “I thought I’d pick a seminal classic that, I feel, really captures what it’s like to be a cowboy in modern times.”

            “Hateful Eight?”

            “I said a cowboy in modern times, Ed, not a movie about cowboys, set in the past, and _filmed_ in the modern times. I’m talkin’ bout…” he holds up the DVD case, “Brokeback Mountain.”

            It’s mostly silence. There’re a few giggles, and Dean’s smile falls a little.

            “Trust me,” he says walking back towards his students, “You might be laughing because this movie has… ‘ _gay cowboys_ ’… but most of you will be leaving here crying.”

            “Wait, I’m confused,” Krissy raises her hand, “How is _that_ a cowboy movie?”

            “I’m glad you asked,” Dean smiles, “I’m sure you’re all wondering just what are the similarities of this movie to cowboy life & culture. Well, when I ask you to point them out to me when the movie’s over, you guys can answer Krissy’s question.” There are more groans now. “But I _will_ help you out. One big similarity – it’s something I say all the time kids – is that most cowboys were…?”

            “Most cowboys were _not_ straight.”

            “There we go!” He laughs, “Now, class dismissed!”

            They couldn’t clear out fast enough. Dean sighs, glad to be finished with the day as well. It’s infinitely better than the other classes he had to lecture – mainly because the class is based around his life’s work:

            _The Life & Times of the American Cowboy_.

            Or, as some of his _least_ favorite students have called it - the ‘Gay Cowboy’ class. It’s not his fault most cowboys liked men. That’s just what made them even more _awesome_. And it’s his duty to shine a light on all the mistruths contemporary American History classes spread about his heroes.

            He shrugs on his jacket and grabs his bag, ready to leave, when he hears a knock on his door.

            “Got a sec, Professor?”

            “Of course, what do you ne – Charlie?”

            The redhead grins, leaning against the doorjamb. She’s wearing a bright yellow jacket over her cobalt blue blazer and suit-pants. Her short red hair curls just above her shoulders, and she’s grinning wide at Dean.

            “The one and only,” she laughs, going in for a hug. Dean joins her mirth, pulling her tight and rocking back and forth.

            “I don’t get it?” he starts, “I thought you were bogged down in meetings all week?”

            “I _was_ ,” she says, “Until the girl I was supposed to meet with today was picked up yesterday on arson charges.”

            “Shit,” Dean hisses, “She do it?”

            “Doesn’t matter if she did or not,” Charlie scoffs, “Not like we’ll be publishing her book anytime soon. Anyway, I figured I had some free time so why _not_ visit my best friend in, like, the _entire_ tri-state area?”

            Dean squints at her. He crosses his arms and looks her up and down. “Why are you really here?”

            “I said –“

            “I know what you said,” Dean cuts her off, “And what you said was a load of bull. So?”

            It takes only seconds for Charlie to break. She sighs and turns away from him. “You’re too good,” she grumbles, “Do you have a built in Lasso of Truth?”

            “No,” Dean smirks, shrugging, “I just know you very well. So spill.”

            “Fine… but I wasn’t lying. You are my best friend in the entire –“

            “Entire tri-state area, yeah, yeah,” Dean waves her off, “Who sent you?”

            “Sam –“

            Dean groans, cutting Charlie off.

            “Hey,” she says, slapping his shoulder, “you asked!”

            “What did he call _you_ for?” Dean asks.

            “He called _me_ because Mary called _him_ saying you haven’t called _her_ back from two days ago, and he can’t get an answer from you either.”

            Dean quirks his mouth to the side and looks away; he had been putting off calling his family, but he knew he had to call soon. He’s not surprised they’ve enlisted Charlie, though. More than a day without contact sets off warning bells.

            “I was going to, but…”

            “But…” Charlie asks, leaning forward, “But you were distracted with your mystery stranger?”

            “Shut up,” Dean grumbles, blushing. He pushes her away and starts to walk away.

            “Well?”

            “Well what?”

            “You aren’t gonna tell me what happened?”

            “I will,” Dean sighs, “but I’d rather do it in my _office_ so I can embarrass myself in private.” He pulls out his key and turns to Charlie, “You coming or do you wanna stay here overnight?”

            “I’m coming, I’m coming.”

            He locks up before he and Charlie make the short trek to Dean’s office. It’s one floor up from Dean’s classroom, which has been very helpful when he had to carry props to class.

            His office is a small thing paneled in mahogany. There are two big bookshelves – barely filled. Most of his books are back at his apartment, waiting to be brought back. The curtains are drawn, so Dean flicks on his desk lamp to provide some light for them. Charlie immediately takes the plush armchair across from Dean’s desk and curls into it. Dean hangs his jacket up on the coat rack and takes his own seat at his chair.

            “So…” Charlie starts, “Your ‘meeting’… how did it go?”

            “About as good as any plans you make with someone you don’t even remember meeting,” Dean sighs, leaning his elbows on his desk and letting his head fall into his hands. “Oh God, Charlie, drunk me did something stupid.”

            “Well that’s to be expected,” Charlie says, placing a comforting hand on Dean’s arm, “Now, did sober you rectify it?”

            “No…” Dean mumbles, “Only made it worse.”

            “Dean!”

            “S’not my fault!” Dean jumps up, defending himself, “He was cute! I was ambushed by his good looks.”

            “You’re a wimp, Dean Winchester,” Charlie says, “You can’t just fall apart the second a good-looking guy catches your eye.”

            “I’d like not to,” Dean sighs, looking away, “Besides, you didn’t see him. He wasn’t _just_ good-looking. He was… _crafted_ by the Elven smiths and given to us to enjoy.”

            “And it sounds like you want to toss him into your volcano.” Dean glares at her. “Anyway,” Charlie continues, “Before you wax poetic on someone I will never be attracted to – _ever_ – why don’t you explain to me what you did?”

            Dean rolls his eyes, but relates the story back to her. Tells her about Cas, about the offer, about how he said yes and _especially_ about the kiss.

            “You’ve made some bad decisions Dean,” Charlie says, “but this has to be, by far, the _worst_ one yet.”

            “Please don’t remind me!” Dean collapses onto his desk.

            “Not only did you invite a perfect stranger to your holiday celebrations,” Charlie powers on, “But you’ve basically involved yourself in a situation that’s just going to leave you heartbroken.”

            Dean groans against the wood. He doesn’t want to agree with Charlie, but the thoughts have already been plaguing him since Cas left the other day. It had only been their second meeting – the first that Dean could _remember_ – and the man’s been practically living inside of his head. He doesn’t know what will happen the more time he spends around him.

            “You’ve got to tell him the deal’s off.”

            “What?” Dean yelps, shooting up, “I – I can’t do that!”

            “Why can’t you?” Charlie asks, “You didn’t sign anything – you didn’t sign anything, did you?”

            “No, no it’s just… I can’t,” Dean says, “If he was so eager to accept a deal from a total stranger, than obviously he needs something, too. Probably even more than I do.”

            “You don’t need anything!” Charlie yells, “You can just tell your family you’re _bi_ without needing a fake boyfriend! It’ll probably end one-hundred percent better than _with_ the fake boyfriend!”

            “I can’t do that, Charlie,” Dean says, staring wide-eyed and frantic, “It’ll work. I’ll… I’ll make it work.”

            “But what about _you_ , Dean,” Charlie whispers, grabbing his hand, “These things always end in someone catching feelings. And you’ve got a big, dumb, net-shaped heart.”

            “I’m also a _big_ boy,” Dean says, swallowing, “I can handle it. I won’t catch _anything_.” He squeezes her hand, grimacing.

            “I’d believe you if I didn’t know you,” Charlie sighs, letting go, “But that also means I know you aren’t going to budge so I _guess_ I’ll just have to support you in another insane adventure you’ve got me wrapped up in.”

            “You’re gonna help?”

            “Of course,” Charlie smirks, “It’d fall apart _without_ me.” She looks down and pulls her phone out of her pocket. She checks her messages and curses low under her breath. “I gotta go,” she says, standing, “Apparently Rosen got pulled from another author. I don’t even know why we keep her…”

            “You want me to –“

            “No,” she says, leaning over to hug him, “You put your landline to good use and make some calls. We’ll talk later!”

            She flies out of his office, a blur of primary colors.

            Dean rolls his eyes and pulls out his laptop, ready to do some work. If… he only had any to do. His book was taking up most of his time, and now with that finished for now, he’s got nothing. Except, maybe, calling his family.

            He makes it through thirty minutes of YouTube videos before the overwhelming guilt has him reaching for his phone.

            “Dean?” Mary answers, “Are you alright?”

            “Yeah, yeah I am,” he starts, threading fingers through his hair, “Just a little busy.”

            “Oh thank God,” she sighs, “When you didn’t call back I didn’t know what happened –“

            “Yeah, sorry to worry ya’, ma,” Dean says, “Got distracted what with my book.”

            “How’s that coming along?” she asks, “Oh, have I told you how proud I am of you, Dean? We’ve never had a published author in the family.”

            “Yeah, yeah I know. The book’s done, I sent it in and now I’m waiting to see whether or not I’ll need to put it back together again after they tear it apart.”

            “Oh it’ll be fine,” Mary laughs, “Anyway, about the holidays –“

            “Yeah,” Dean interrupts, “So the _whole_ family is coming here?”

            “Yes!” Mary laughs, excited, “Your father wanted it to be a surprise but I told him that the last thing you needed was all the stress of having to find stuff for all of us to do on such short notice.”

            “Thanks,” Dean says, rubbing at his eye, “Really. So… when would you be getting here?”

            “We didn’t want to get there too early, so we all planned to arrive around the 19th? Yes, the 19th. And we won’t be leaving until after New Years.”

            Dean nods, “Alright, alright – that’s great! So… you do know my apartment isn’t big enough to –“

            “We know, Dean,” Mary scolds, and Dean can picture her rolling her eyes, “Your father had a really good turnout this year at the garage, and I started writing for the Lawrence Gazette, so we decided we’d rent a hotel room with the extra cash we have. We’d be rooming with Bobby and Ellen while Sam and Jessica can share a room with Jo –”

            “Wow, when you put it like that it sounds so,” Dean gulps, “so _final._ ”

            “Are you okay, Dean?” Mary asks, “You don’t sound so good.”

            “Oh, you know… just feeling a bit under the weather –“

            “Have you been wearing your jacket –“

            “Yes, ma, I have,” Dean sighs, “I just feel run down after such a long day.”

            “Then I won’t keep you any longer,” Mary says, “Go home and get some rest. I love you.”

            “Love you too, ma.” Dean hears the click and the dial tone before he pulls the phone away from his face. It doesn’t stray for long, as he’s bringing it back and dialing another number.

            “Hello?”

            “Sammy,” Dean grouses, “Thought I’d save Charlie the minutes and tell you I was alive myself.”

            He can’t see Sam, but Dean knows he’s pursing his lips and glaring at his office wall in the patented way he can.

            “I knew you weren’t dead, idiot,” Sam says, “But if you didn’t call mom by tomorrow we would have had to push up our flight plans.”

            “How do you know I called her?”

            “She just put it in the group chat.”

            “Wait,” Dean holds a hand up to no one, “you’re all in a group chat… _without_ me?”

            “You didn’t know?”

            “ _No_.”

            “I figured you’d know about it just like _I_ know about the one _you’re_ in that I’m not a part of.”

            Dean shrugs. “Fair point.”

            “Anyway,” Sam continues, “Is there more to this phone call or can I get back to the _exciting_ world of loopholes and contracts.”

            “Hey!” Dean grumbles, “You chose to be a lawyer. I told you to become a surfer when you decided to move out West.”

            “Yeah, and if I had listened to you I’d be bumming it in some crummy VW instead of living in the gorgeous apartment I have now.”

            “Whatever,” Dean smirks, “you wouldn’t have been a good surfer anyway. That pole up your ass would throw your balance off every time you stood up on the board.”

            “At least I _go_ to the beach Mr. ‘The sand gets everywhere’!”

            “It does!”

            They’re both laughing, and Dean feels some of the tension from earlier slowly eek out. He’s relaxed, comfortable, and totally caught off guard by what comes next. “So…” Sam starts, “Has anything… _interesting_ happened lately?”

            Dean’s smile drops. “What?”

            “You know,” he continues, “Have you been… hitting the town?”

            “Hitting the? …Wait,” Dean says, pinching his brow, “Not you, too.”

            “Not me what?”

            “You’re supposed to be on my side,” Dean whines, “And now you’re pestering me, too!”

            “Pestering –“!

            “Did mom put you up to this? Did she… did she _type_ it into your group chat?”

            “Dean,” Sam sighs, “Look, you know how mom is. When you didn’t show for Thanksgiving she brought up the fact that you’re the only one single –“

            “Uh, dude, I’m not,” he points out, “There’s Jo –“

            “Who is happily in a relationship with someone she met while overseas during her ‘Summer Abroad’,” Sap interrupts, “At least they looked that way on Thanksgiving.”

            “ _Jo_ is dating someone?” Dean swallows past the lump in his throat. Jo’s singlehood was the only other excuse he had as to why he never brought someone home. Well, that and work. And seeing as how neither is believable at the moment…

            “Mom’s gonna be laying it on thick when she comes, isn’t she,” Dean whines, again, “No…”

            “Listen, Dean, she’s just concerned about you… we – well, we all are.”

            “We? Who are _we_? The group chat?”

            “Dean, don’t act like that –“

            “None of you think I’m happy just because I’m single?”

            “No one is saying that,” Sam starts, “We’re just concerned that you’re not… well, you’re not really going out and doing anything anymore. You’re nesting.”

            “ _Nesting_?”

            “I mean – look, when’s the last time you went with Charlie to one of her LARPing things?”

            Dean frowns, looking away, “It… might have been a few months. Maybe a year.”

            “And to a concert?” Sam continues, “The last one you went to was three years ago, and that’s only because I dragged you to one when you visited me.”

            “I’m still scarred from that,” Dean scoffs, “I mean who goes to a Vince Vincente concert _willingly_?”

            “All I’m saying is that you’re kind of becoming a hermit.” Dean scoffs very loudly at that and rolls his eyes. “It’s true! I mean, when’s the last time you went out with a girl!”

            “I’ll have you know, _Samuel_ , that my personal life is no one’s concern but my own!”

            “Dean –“

            “And I’ll also let you in on a little secret,” Dean continues, an evil thought popping into his mind, “That I’m not as lonely as you _think_.”

            “…What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “You’ll find out.”

            “Dean? Dean, tell me, Dean –“!

            He hangs up, a litany of curses hissed under his breath, followed by a string of “Stupids”.

            ‘ _Why did I just do that_?’

            He’s dug himself a grave. Dean’s sure Sam won’t tell any of what he just said to ma but… now Sam’s going to be very suspicious. Which means he’ll need to really make this thing with Cas look legit.

            “Cas…”

            Dean sighs and reaches into his pocket to give text Cas. Might as well get started tonight – they’re going to need all the time they can get. 

* * *

             He’s pacing a hole into his floor, eyeing his phone every ten seconds hoping to see a notification light or for the time to tick further towards eight. Cas had said he’d be coming round with food, but Dean couldn’t help but do some stress baking. So there’s a plate of sugar cookies cooling on the counter. He had time after he’d organized his papers, dusted his sofa, and wiped down his coffee table.

            He’s also a stress _cleaner_.

            Dean’s thankful, at least, that he didn’t have much time after he got home to do anymore. The thought of changing his sheets entered his mine as quickly as it exited. There’s no way they’d be getting farther then the living room.

            Unless he has to use the bathroom, that is.

            _Knock Knock_

            Dean bites back a yelp, turning on his heel to face the door. He’s frozen, eyes wide in panic. He doesn’t move.

            “Dean?” Cas says from behind the door, “Are you there? I brought burgers… they’re kind of greasy.”

            Cas’s voice spurs him into action. His joints unlock and he moves towards the door. He takes a deep breath and plasters a smile on before opening. “Sorry, Cas,” Dean says, letting him in, “Was in the other room.”

            “That’s okay, Dean,” Cas says, smiling, “I really like what you’ve done with the place. I can actually see the floor.”

            “Yeah… Since I finished the book there wasn’t much of an excuse to have the place looking so bad.” Dean grabs for the food, “Here, let me.” They brush fingers, and Cas lets go with a jolt.

            “Sure, sure…” Cas mumbles, looking away, “Can I?”

            “Yeah, hang it up,” Dean laughs, “Get comfortable, take a seat wherever.”

            Dean carries the food over to the counter, placing the bags near the cookies to grab some plates.

            “What’d you get?”

            “Two cheeseburgers, two orders of fries,” Cas calls out from the other room, “The, uh… the curly fries are _yours_. I remember you ordered them the other day and… yeah.”

            “Thanks for the heads up,” Dean chuckles, doling the food out, “Any drink?”

            “Whatever you have is fine.”

            “Alcoholic?”

            “Sure,” Cas says, “But maybe you should hold back tonight. Don’t want a repeat from our first night.”

            Dean blushes, and he almost drops his beer on the floor. He’s biting at his lip, hip against the counter, trying to think of something to say. He has nothing, so he puts the drinks in the crook of his arm as he carries the food in.

            “Here is your food, sir,” Dean jokes, “And the finest brew we have on tap.”

            “Such excellent service,” Cas laughs, “Is there anything _I_ can do?”

            “You’ve already done more than enough.“

            “Dean –“

            “No, really, Cas,” Dean starts, taking a couple fries and jamming them into his mouth, “Thish ish… I can’t really explain how mush thish meansh… My family –“

            “Dean,” Cas places a hand on Dean’s wrist, startling him, “As sweet it is for you to say that, could you at least finish chewing.”

            Dean’s blush deepens, as his face is wont to do whenever he's in Cas's presence for more than five seconds now. He swallows, and then takes his seat on the floor near Cas. He pops open his beer on the edge of the table and he takes a long swig from it.

            “So…”

            “So…”

            Dean doesn’t know how to fill the silence with words that won’t just further embarrass himself. Instead he proceeds to cram even more food into his mouth, moaning around the burger.

            “Where’d you –“ Dean says, only to swallow, “Sorry, where’d you get this from?”

            “This diner I go to,” Cas explains, taking a bite from his own burger, “I saved the owner from a mugging three years ago so everything I order is practically free.”

            “ _Practically_?”

            Cas blushes, looking away. “I don’t exactly _like_ the special treatment,” he explains, “I would prefer he didn’t do that but… Benny makes good food. So I make sure to leave a very generous tip every time I go.”

            “This Benny sounds like a good man,” Dean laughs, “My kind of guy.”

            “I thought I was your kind of guy,” Cas jokes now, “Or would you prefer _he_ be your fake boyfriend.” Dean swallows harshly, looking down at his floor as Cas’s chuckle starts to die down. “Oh,” he hears Cas say, “I’m… I’m sorry, Dean. I… probably shouldn’t joke about –“

            “No, no it’s fi – you’re fine,” Dean explains, scrubbing a hand down his face, forcing a smile, “I should – it’s me. I need to get comfortable with this whole… _plan_.”

            “You aren’t alone,” Cas says, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder and giving him a good squeeze, “If it helps… this’ll most likely be my first time dating someone.”

            A laugh escapes that wasn’t supposed to. “You,” Dean starts, trying to contain himself, “You can’t be serious.”

            “I am,” Cas says, squinting, “why is that so unbelievable?”

            “Cas, have you looked in a mirror?”

            Cas face burns, and he looks at his fries with a small smile. He pops one in before continuing. “Looks are one thing,” he says, “But when I open my mouth… people find me to be a bit… awkward? I’m not too good at reading social cues and… tend to be a bit _blunt_.”

            Dean shrugs, “That’s not your fault,” he says, “If anything, it’s _their_ fault for not wanting to hear what you have to say.”

            “That’s very kind of you, Dean.”

            “And if it makes _you_ feel better,” Dean continues, “you’ll be the first _partner_ I introduce to my family!”

            “I thought that was the point,” Cas grumbles, taking a sip of his beer. He looks at Dean, and his mouth opens and closes, as if he wants to ask Dean a question.

            “What?”

            “Was there,” Cas starts, clearing his throat, “Has there been anyone you ever… _wanted_ to meet your family.”

            Dean smiles, looking away. “Truth? …There was one guy. His name was Victor. I met him when I first came to New York… he took me around, showed me the sights. We had to break it off though because he was offered a better job somewhere across the country and I didn’t want to move.”

            “I’m… sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” Dean waves him off, “We keep in touch. He’s got a great girl and I…”

            “You what?”

            “Well I got you don’t I?”

            Dean’s staring at Cas in a way he knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t know if Cas can tell what Dean means, but he thinks Cas catches on when he ducks his head, the tips of his ears burning scarlet.

            Charlie’s voice echoes in his head: ‘ _Don’t catch feelings… you’ll only break your heart.’_

            “Anyway,” Dean says, shaking his head, “um – did I tell you when they were coming?”

            “Yes?” Cas fiddles with the label of his bottle, “The 19th? That’s a little less than two weeks away. We have time… but not a lot of it.”

            “Good, good, we’re gonna need it,” Dean says, “I might have slipped up a little when talkin’ to my baby bro, Sammy. He’s gonna be suspicious – so we’re gonna have to make this look like the _perfect_ relationship.”

            “Dean, no relationship is perfect,” Cas says, “At least… that’s what I’ve heard.”

            “Then we’ll shoot for as close as possible!” Dean chirps, seeping some fake enthusiasm into his voice as he slaps his hand on the floor, “Let me clean up and we can continue talking about this. I also baked some cookies – you like cookies?”

            “Who doesn’t like cookies?”

            “Perfect just… sit right there, and I’ll be right back.”

            Dean practically runs into the kitchen, nearly tripping over his feet. He finds purchase on the counter, and grips the edge so tight he’s sure there’ll be imprints. He takes a deep breath, slowly and shakily letting it out in a soft hiss.

            “You’re making things awkward, Winchester,” he whispers, “Come on, you can do this. Stop flirting with your _fake_ boyfriend.” Dean takes another deep breath in before letting go of the counter. He grabs the cookies and heads back into the room.

            “Sugar?”

            “With frosting?”

            Dean looks down at Cas, his eyes having glazed over staring at the plate. “Uh… yeah, is there any –“ Cas grabs for the plate and immediately pops one into his mouth. “other… kind…”

            Dean sits back down on the floor, staring up at Cas. By the time he’s on his third cookie, Cas finally acknowledges Dean’s amusing stare and smirk. Cas chuckles and swallows it down. “Sorry,” he says, scratching at his cheek, “I… have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

            “No worries,” Dean laughs, clapping Cas on the knee, “I’m glad you liked my baking!”

            “You’re very talented,” Cas nods, holding out the plate for Dean to take one, “Are there any _more_ things I should know about you?”

            “Well, Cas,” Dean smiles, tearing off part of the cookie, chewing, “That’s what we’re gonna find out.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to drop a kudos, comment, or both if you're really liking it so far!


	4. Cuffed to a Montage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Supposed to post this yesterday... my bad!

            “I don’t see the point of this.”

            On a park bench in Central Park, Castiel watches Dean jostle a small camera in his lap, only occasionally glancing up at him to smile. However this time, Dean is frowning. “Come on,” Dean sighs, still fiddling, “I thought I explained it for you this morning on the phone.”

            “You did…” Cas nods, remembering it well. He had to hide in the bathroom to make sure Meg didn’t listen in. And even then he’s not sure because she was standing _suspiciously_ outside the men’s room. “Still,” he continues, “What does _that_ have to do with your plan –“

            “ _Our_ plan!”

            “ _Your_ plan,” Castiel smirks. Dean put all the thought into it, Castiel feels he should have the credit. All he did was nod and devour nearly all of Dean’s cookies. “So… explain?”

            “Well, I was thinking,” Dean starts, playing with the camera, “That really all we’ll have is our word and what-not – which would be good… if we were dealing with anyone but _my_ family.” He leans his ear close and shakes it, “Especially after I kind-of-almost spilled the beans to Sam. We’re gonna need more than just words and acting. We’re gonna need a-HA!” Dean laughs, hearing the camera click and flash in front of Castiel’s face. Castiel blinks away the blurry lights, only getting a fuzzy image of Dean waving something fiercely.

            “What was that?” Castiel asks, rubbing his eyes, “What are you doing?”

            “Sorry, sorry,” Dean laughs, “I was saying that we are gonna need _evidence_ – like… physical proof.” Dean holds up the camera, “So I figured pictures would be the way to go.”

            “And what are you holding?”

            Dean looks down at the ten-by-two rectangle that’s slowly but surely fading into something, then up at Castiel. “Dude… have you never heard of polaroids?”

            “Is that… is that the app?”

            Dean’s eyes widen, and Castiel can see him try and hold back laughter that’s trying to bubble forth. Dean looks back down at the plastic rectangle and hands it to Castiel. “Why don’t you take a look for yourself.”

            Castiel takes it, only to be startled. It’s him, caught in surprise. His eyes are wide and his mouth is pulled tight at the ends.

            “Oh,” he says, “I see… so it prints photographs?”

            “Yeah, man,” Dean plucks the picture and tucks it into the front pocket of his shirt, “Photos we can use to capture our whirlwind seven-month romance.”

            “Seven months?” Castiel asks, voice strained, “What happened to four months?”

            “Not long enough for my time table,” Dean tells him, standing up. Offers his hand to him, Castiel stares at it before taking it. When he’s up, Dean tries to pull away, but Castiel reacts first. He squeezes tight, trapping Dean’s hand in his. Then, he moves to lace his fingers with Dean’s. There's a slight blush working its way across Dean’s neck, but isn’t sure if it’s from the gesture or the cold.

            “Is this alright?” Castiel asks, “I figured we should start getting as comfortable with each other as possible.”

            “You – you’re right,” Dean says, looking away, “Come on, we can get some sweet pics before it gets too late.”

            “Dean, it’s already dark out.”

            “That’s why I got the flash on, stupid.”

            They trek further into the park. Castiel keeps a safe distance from Dean, trailing behind. He can tell Dean is nervous. The other man still toys with the camera, now strapped around his neck, and he’s looking everywhere except at him. ‘ _This really won’t be easy_.’ “I’d prefer you call me something else.”

            Dean turns to Castiel, eyebrows drawn in. Castiel huffs a laugh, then takes a large step to be closer to him.

            “Instead of stupid,” he clarifies, “I’m sure since we’ve been together for… _seven months_ … we should at least have pet names for each other by now.”

            Dean lets out a soft ‘oh,’ “I… I didn’t think of that.”

            “Should we maybe make it _ten_ months?”

            “Maybe –“

            “No, Dean,” Castiel shoots him down, “seven is enough.”

            “Fine,” Dean grumbles, trying to cross his arms, but only serving to drag Castiel closer, “if you don’t want to be _prepared_.” Castiel pulls away, and then forces Dean to stop walking. He lets go of Dean’s hand and grips his arms.

            “Dean, listen to me, we have enough time to get this right,” he says, staring deep into Dean’s eyes. He can see the fright in them, and hopes his own uneasiness about the situation isn’t showing in his eyes. “But we can’t think about what can go _wrong_. We should just try and do what we can and if something comes along we didn’t see coming, then we’ll… _make it up_ as we go along.”

            Dean’s staring at Castiel in awe; he’s watching the professor, and he’s transfixed. The apprehension and worry that was there has slowly sunk away, and there’s a new, unreadable emotion there. Castiel would have preferred to stay there, staring into Dean’s eyes, to uncover what he’s trying to convey. But then he feels Dean start to shiver. He looks to Dean’s lips and sees the fog escaping his lips, and can feel him tremble.

            “And maybe try not to catch a cold,” he finishes, reaching down to zip up Dean’s jacket yet again, taking care with the Polaroid. This snaps Dean awake, and he takes a step back when Castiel is done.

            He’s trying to say something, his lips moving to and fro, shaping themselves around a word. Castiel waits, watching, until suddenly –

            “ _Angelface_.”

            “What?”

            “Your nickname,” Dean mumbles, turning away. He pockets his hands and blushes, “Your last name is DiAngelo… and I made that comment when we met at the deli… I think it fits.”

            Castiel smiles remembering how Dean fell over himself during and after that comment. “I like it.”

            Dean smiles to himself. Castiel matches it with his smile, and turns to walk away. He doesn’t get far, when he feels something snake around his forearm.

            Dean slides his hand down to Castiel’s, and resumes their position. Castiel now stands, frozen, watching Dean as he gets redder.

            “M’hands were getting cold,” he mutters, tugging Castiel forward again, “Now come on, Angelface.” He cranes his neck to Castiel, a large smile on his face, “What’s my nickname.”

            Castiel thinks. He goes through all the ones he remembers hearing in movies or television, even the ones he’s read in his books. None really capture Dean, except a word that he thought of when Dean made his way over to him at the bar.

            “I’ve got the perfect one.”

            “Alright, spill.”

            “… _Dork_.”

            “Now that’s ni – wait,” Dean stops again, glaring, “Dork?”

            “ _I_ think it fits,” Castiel shrugs, pulling Dean forward now. Dean grumbles, but doesn’t put up any more protests, and they continue their way deeper into the park.

* * *

            “I don’t think we’ll need to do _that_.”

            Dean tries to glare, but the fact he’s also half-shoving a hot dog down his face only makes Castiel want to laugh.

            “Why noh’,” he grumbles, flakes of bun and mystery meat flying in Castiel’s general direction. He glares, and Dean shrugs in apology. He finishes chewing and, “Why not?”

            Castiel takes a small nibble of his own hot dog. “Well,” he starts, “I don’t think we’ll have to be playing the Newlywed Game –“

            “Oh you know _that_ but not Dr. Sexy –“

            “The Newlywed Game was a classic game show for its time,” Castiel takes another bite, chews, and swallows, “That show you just said is tasteless and tame smut.”

            Dean gasps. “Take that back!”

            “Or what?” Castiel challenges, “You’ll fake break-up with me?”

            They match stares for a heated beat, until Dean relents and shoves the rest of the hot dog into his mouth, chewing miserably. “Still,” he says after he’s done, “What if Sam decides to corner one of us when we’re not expecting anything and cross-examines us! He’s a lawyer – he learned all those tricks at Stanford!”

            “I don’t think your brother would do that –“

            “You don’t know Sammy,” Dean continues, shaking his head and smiling, “If he turns his puppy dog eyes on you, you’ll fess up to anything. Even things you _didn’t_ do.”

            Castiel watches Dean strangely. He’s never had a brother he could speak fondly of, so watching Dean wax poetic about Sam was new territory for him. He felt… empty. That he could not conjure up similar affection for any of his relations, even his mother or father. ‘ _That’s exactly why you’re doing this_ , _nothing **more**_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _It’ll be nice to be part of a **real** family this holiday_.’

            “Fine,” Castiel sighs, “Ask your questions.”

            “Wait – really?”

            “Really.”

            “Thanks!” Dean jumps, kissing Castiel on the cheek. He doesn't seem fazed by the sudden display of affection, striding forward without a misstep. Castiel, however, follows in a daze. His hand is pressed against his cheek, and his mind is in a swirl. He comes to when Dean is asking him something, his eyes bright with worry.

            “What?”

            “I asked you a question,” Dean repeats, “Did you hear me?”

            “No… can you repeat, please?”

            “I asked what your favorite color is?”

            “That… that would have to be orange.”

            “Orange? Why?”

            Castiel shrugs. “I like sunrises. What about you?”

            “Purple,” Dean smiles, “Makes my eyes _pop_. Were you ever arrested?”

            “I’m a detective,” Castiel says, “it’s pretty hard for us to get arrested – even _if_ we did something wrong.”

            “Sadly true.”

            “And you?”

            “Twice,” Dean chuckles, rubbing his neck, “Once for possession and… actually _twice_ for possession.” Castiel stares at Dean. “What? I liked to smoke.”

            “Do you _still_ smoke?”

            “Sometimes…” Dean stops, turning to Castiel, “Should I be telling you this?”

            “Legally, yes,” Castiel starts, “But ethically, I could give a rat’s ass.” He then smirks and winks at Dean, “I mean, _I_ haven’t been arrested yet.”

            “Dude…”

            “Yep.”

            “Alright, filing that away for later,” Dean says, “Speaking of your job… what do you do?”

            Castiel rolls his eyes, but explains, “Almost exactly like what you see on television except more paperwork and no sexual tension between my partner and I.”

            “You have a partner?”

            “Yeah, Meg,” Castiel smiles, “Our boss put us together because no one else wanted to work with us. I can be blunt but she borders on _cruel_.”

            “Yikes, don’t think I’d want to get on her bad side.”

            “That’s her good side,” Castiel says, “You don’t want to _see_ her bad side.”

            “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

            “Any more questions?”

            “Oh, uh… what’s your favorite… animal?”

            Castiel is thrown for a loop. His mind is blank, and he searches frantically for any animal. His eyes land on a nearby flower shop. “Bees?”

            Dean makes a weird expression. “Bees?” he repeats.

            “I don’t know,” Castiel sighs, exasperated, “Okay, I don’t think I have a favorite animal.” He slows to a stop, “Dean, I think we shouldn’t try and force this. It should come up naturally.”

            “You’re… probably right,” Dean shrugs, “Sorry, I figured if we prepped like we would for a test it might… help?”

            “While I did learn a few things about you,” Castiel says, “I’m more of a… _experiential_ learner.”

            “I’ll keep that in mind.”

            “Good.”

            They continue walking. Castiel feels Dean bump into him a few times, and Castiel moves to grab Dean’s hand. Dean doesn’t hesitate to lace their fingers together.

            “Hey Cas?” Dean asks, when they’re waiting with a crowd on a corner for a string of cabs to pass, “Why bees?”

            “I don’t know… it was the first thing I could think of.”

            “You’re not good on your feet,” Dean smirks, “If that’s what you thought of.”

            “I know,” Castiel snorts, shaking, “I mean… whose favorite animal is bees? Like, off the top of their heads?”

            “Right?”

            Dean and Castiel laugh so hard they miss the light, and are forced to wait again.

            They don’t mind.

* * *

             “Dean, do we really need to do this?”

            Castiel’s shivering, clad in only a thin tank top and board shorts. He’s clenching and unclenching his toes in the sand, rubbing his forearms together to spark some heat. He can see Dean try and contain his own shivering, but is failing worse at it then Castiel is. Especially because he’s wearing only the shorts.

            “Y-y-yes,” he starts, pulling up the camera, “We went on a beach date. You took me here after I got back from my research out West. Usually I hate the beach but you convinced me to come to relax.”

            “Why would I do that?”

            “Dude, you’re tan,” Dean shrugs, “you probably spend every day at the beach… right?”

            “Dean, I _hate_ the beach.”

            Dean blinks at him. “What?”

            “Yes!” he shouts, “Why didn’t you ask me?”

            “I just assumed!” he defends himself, staring at Castiel’s chest and blushing, “And totally _not_ for any other reason”

            Castiel feels that there’s more to unpack there. However, he’s so cold he can barely think. “Next time, speak with me before doing something like this,” he says, “I have a shift later today and can’t be sick for it.”

            “F-f-fine,” Dean says, “Lay out the towel and just – stop _jittering_ so I can take the pic!”

            Castiel rolls his eyes but does as Dean says. He stretches out onto the blanket where in no time at all Dean throws himself into Castiel and burrows deep.

            “I – uh… I get cold easily,” Dean admits, holding the camera up. He’s trying to take the picture, but keeps missing. His fingers shake and circle the button. Castiel, starting to feel his toes numb, sighs and takes it from Dean.

            “Let me,” he says, curling his arm over Dean’s chest and pulling him even closer, “Smile.”

            Castiel takes the picture whether Dean’s smiling or not. It prints out, and Dean all but snatches it. A few seconds pass before it develops, and Dean grins.

            “Perfect,” he shows Castiel, who agrees. Dean is smiling, but he’s also looking up at Castiel.

            “Great,” he says, letting go of Dean and getting up, “Then let’s get out of here before we can’t move.”

            He’s tugging at the towel, but Dean isn’t budging. “Dean?” Dean’s staring at the ocean, head tilted to the side. He stands. “Dean?” Dean turns to Castiel.

            “I’ve got a great idea for a pic,” he says, forcing the Polaroid into Castiel’s hands before he jets off into the ocean. Castiel follows, “Dean? What are you doing?”

            Dean jumps into the ocean. Castiel tries to follow, but stops when the waves lick at his ankles because it’s too cold. “Dean you’ll get yourself sick!” he calls out.

            “Take the pic!” Dean yells back, waist deep, “It’ll be great!”

            “Dean –“

            “I’m not getting out till you do!”

            Castiel wants to argue, but knows Dean well enough now to know how _stubborn_ he can get. So, fighting every instinct he has to jump in and pull Dean in, he pulls the camera out and takes the best picture he can.

            “It’s taken!” Castiel calls out. Dean turns back and gives him a thumbs up, making his way back. Castiel turns to the towel, placing the Polaroid on the sand. He’s pulling it up when he hears a giant splash. He jumps, blinking at where Dean was. The other man pops back up, shaking his wet hair and wiping his eyes of the salt water.

            “Dean!”

            Castiel dashes into the water, uncaring of the cold. It’s at their knees, and Castiel wraps the towel around Dean and rubs it up and down his shoulders.

            “What happened?”

            “Sh-sh-shell,” Dean stutters out, “Slipped.”

            “Come on, let’s get you back.”

            Castiel walks over to pick up their stuff. He slips on his sandals and hands Dean his to slide on. Grabbing the Polaroid, they make their way to Dean’s car. Castiel opens the door, Dean having left it unlocked. He tries shoving him in, only for him to fight Castiel.

            “Can’t.”

            “Why not?”

            “Salt water,” Dean mumbles, pointing to himself, “Leather.”

            Castiel rolls his eyes. He reaches into the car and finds Dean’s keys, turning it on to get the heat started. Then, he turns back to Dean and grabs for the towel.

            “Hey!”

            “Hold still.”

            He starts to dry Dean off, making sure to collect every inch of water. ‘ _Stupid_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Would rather freeze than mess up his car._ ’ Finished, he points at the seat. “In.”

            Dean blushes, nods, and jumps in. Castiel quickly towels himself off and hurries over to the passenger side. Dean musses his shirt, having put it on in the meantime. Castiel tries to speak, but he’s too angry. All he gets out is: “What were you _thinking_?”

            “I… I thought it would look cool,” Dean admits, “Like one of those artsy pictures you see on the Internet.”

            Castiel is about to lay into him, but seeing Dean like he is… he doesn’t have it in him to stay mad. He sighs, and holds out the picture.

            “Well?”

            “Huh?”

            “Does it?” Castiel asks, smirking, “Look like one of those Internet pictures?”

            Dean tentatively reaches out and takes it, their fingers brushing. He looks down at it and smiles, which forces a smile out of Castiel. Dean looks to him and holds it out to him. “I think so.”

            He was right. The picture looked very artistic. The sun broke through the clouds, and hit Dean at a great angle. Half of his body was lit up, and even on the small layout Castiel could see some freckles popping out of his pale skin. He looked carefree… happy… _content_. How someone would look in a picture frame you'd see on the shelf or an ad for cologne in a magazine.

            Like how Castiel feels now.

            “…I get why you brought this, now.” 

* * *

             Dean stares up at the apartment complex, a weird feeling gnawing at his gut. When Cas had texted him the address, Dean wasn’t sure what to make of it. He was just finishing his last class for the semester, and halfway through the movie he felt his phone vibrate. After that, he could barely focus on the rest of the film. He couldn’t even enjoy the fact that most of his students _had_ been reduced to sobbing messes.

            It didn’t take him long to find the place. Because Cas lived five minutes away from NYU – where he _works_.

            ‘ _How many times have we almost crossed paths?_ ’

            Shaking his head, he decides to focus on what he came here to do. He enters, greeting the doorman.

            “I’m um – here to see Cas?” he says. The man behind the desk doesn’t say anything, shooting him a strange look. “Castiel,” Dean continues, “Castiel DiAngelo?”

            “Oh,” the man says, “Well… that’s a first. I’ll call to let him know you’re here.”

            Dean rolls his eyes and looks around the lobby. He notices a few purple NYU sweaters, and waves at some familiar faces. He feels a slight tap on his shoulder, and the doorman points to the elevators, “He’s waiting for you, 9th Floor.”

            “Thanks.”

            Dean takes it up, walking towards Cas’s door: 918. He knocks, staring at the peephole. He doesn’t have to wait long, hearing the deadbolt slide unlocked. Cas is standing on the other side, smiling. Dean grins back. His faux paramour has changed out of his work attire - the dark suit, blue tie, and trench coat get-up. Instead, he looks very comfortable and relaxed in his apartment. He’s barefoot, wearing a worn-out, multi-colored Phish t-shirt and jeans with holes in them.

            “Well that’s a change.”

            “What?”

            “Did I just miss Jerry Garcia?” Dean asks, walking in, “Jesus it’s _hot_ in here.”

            “Sorry,” Cas smiles, “I’m quite partial to the heat. Please, allow me.” He motions for Dean’s jacket, and helps him out of it. Dean pulls at his collar, unbuttoning the top two buttons. “Take you shoes off, please,” Cas continues, walking away, “Get comfortable.”

            Dean toes his boots off by the entrance and continues forward. The living room is nice. He’s got an excellent view of the city, and a great place to enjoy it, too. The sofa is a nice, leather piece, and the coffee table is all glass – magazines spread across its surface. ' _There are even fricken’ art pieces._ ' Dean hangs old movie posters and comic books on his walls, and the comparison leaves him feeling childish.

            “Do you like Monet?”

            Dean turns, Cas having snuck up beside him.

            “Is that who that is?”

            “Well – no,” Cas shrugs, “It’s a replica.”

            “It’s… nice, it’s very nice,” Dean says, looking around, “Sleek… modern.”

            “Thanks,” he says, “I hate it.”

            “Yeah – wait, what?”

            “None of this is mine, really,” Cas explains, “my parents bought it for me when I got the place.”

            “Why don’t you buy new stuff?”

            “You know how expensive furniture is?”      

            “Fair point.”

            “Come, take a seat,” Cas says, “Want anything to drink?”

            “Beer?”

            “Yes, just a minute.” It doesn’t take long for Cas to return, handing it to Dean. If Cas’s fingers brushing against Dean’s were intentional, he cannot say. Because the very familiar label on the bottle he usually sees on campus distracts him when he works the occasional Friday night.

            “Are you sure you’re not a student?” Dean asks, smirking.

            “What, this?” Cas asks, holding up the bottle, “I didn’t buy it.”

            “Then how’d you get it?”

            “Confiscated it from a few of the underage college kids who live in the building,” Cas laughs, “With my badge I really don’t have to pay for booze… as well as _other_ things of that nature.”

            “Lucky you,” Dean laughs as well, “Must save on money for the rent.”

            “Exactly.”

            Dean puts his bag down and takes a seat. He curls in, letting his arm rest on the back of the couch, and pulls his leg up. He pats the seat next to him for Cas.

            “Come,” Dean says, “I have gifts.”

            “Gifts?” Cas asks, sitting cross-legged, “Were we… were we supposed to get gifts?”

            “No,” Dean smirks, rolling his eyes. He pulls out a heavy orange binder and an orange folder, dropping it in Cas’s lap. “Besides, it’s not an ordinary gift – it’s _educational_!”

            “What… is this?”

            “I figured,” Dean starts, sipping from his beer, “That you might want to know about what I was writing. So I asked my friend Charlie to print out my book proposal. Plus, for context, I have some articles I’ve written and my class syllabus in the folder.”

            “And I’m supposed to read these… now?” Cas looks towards Dean; his blue eyes alight with fear. Dean suppresses a giggle and pats Cas’s knee. He lets his hand stay there.

            “No,” Dean says, “But at least before my family gets here.”

            Cas sighs, opening up the folder and flipping through pages, pulling out Dean’s syllabus. “I _was_ wondering what you did at NYU,” Cas mumbles, flipping through the syllabus.

            “Yeah, I _teach_ things. It’s not like I’m paid to sit and write and generally be pretty.”

            “Pretty what? Annoying?” Cas jokes, smirking. Dean scoffs, and bats at Cas’s knee, finally pulling away. He takes another swig of his drink before Cas turns back to him.

            “So you teach about the American Midwest,” Cas starts, “but more specifically… cowboys?”

            “You got it Angelface,” Dean winks.

            “But not ordinary cowboys,” Cas continues, “ _gay_ cowboys?”

            “Well, actually, gay cowboys _are_ ordinary cowboys so – y’know… just _cowboys_.”

            Cas looks up, frowning. “My apologies,” he says, “Did I… hit a nerve?”

            Dean sighs, rubbing at his temple. “Sorry,” he says, “Yeah… it’s a sore spot.” Dean really doesn’t like the words ‘ _gay cowboys_ ’. He knows he shouldn’t… but after hearing it for years in reference of his work – to try and _belittle_  him – it leaves a sour taste in his mouth and his hackles raised.

            “No need to feel sorry, Dean,” Cas smiles, closing the folder, “I will avoid using it in the future.”

            Dean gives Cas a tiny half-smile, his chest heavy and warm. “Thanks.”

            “So,” Cas continues, opening the binder, “Your book is about your class?”

            “Somewhat,” Dean says, leaning in, “It’s focusing on certain cowboys and reveals certain _truths_ about them and their experiences that were shared across the Midwest at that time and taking a critical lens as to how this history is presented today!”

            Dean waits for Cas’s reaction. He’s frowning down at the book, squinting, which isn’t a good sign.

            “Dean?” Cas asks, “Your family… do they know exactly what you’re writing about?”

            “I mean… I guess?”

            “And they… you’re _sure_ they don’t know you like _men_?”

            “What? What are you talking about?”

            Cas holds the binder up to Dean and points. “I’m talking about your title,” he chuckles, “ _Riding Bareback Through the Midwest: True Stories About the Cowboy – America’s Hero_. What were you thinking?”

            “I – I though it was funny!” Dean flushes, pushing the binder down, “And _yes_ they’ve seen the title and _no_ , they don’t.” Dean’s trying to be mad, but Cas’s laughter is infectious, and soon enough he’s fighting back his own chuckle.

            “Fuck you, Cas,” Dean mumbles, moving to take another sip of his drink. He’s surprised to see it’s all gone.

            Cas sees him eyeing his bottle. “Would you like more?”

            “Yeah,” Dean stands, stretching, “Kitchen?”

            “To the left.”

            Dean turns the corner and walks down the hallway to the kitchen. Like the living room, it’s very current. The cabinets are a dark brown, unlike the sort of off-white of Dean’s. The countertops look like actual marble, and the fridge and dishwasher are chrome.

            ‘ _He has a dishwasher!_ ’

            Dean opens the fridge and notices how little there is to eat in the fridge. He spies the beer easily, but other than that it’s pretty bare: just some milk, eggs, an old container of Chinese food (judging by the smell), and tomato sauce. He starts thinking that Cas doesn’t like spending an awful amount of time at his apartment. The temperature might be blasting at high, but the place isn’t that… _warm_. A stark contrast to Dean’s own home. The first thing Dean had noticed was how _barren_  the place seemed. Not of stuff: Cas had furniture and paintings and books and a wide-screen TV. No, Cas’s place seemed to be missing family.

            Dean has pictures of them hanging everywhere in his place. He might not want to be around them all the time, but he doesn’t love them any less. Having their pictures on his walls makes the distance between him and them feel smaller… especially when they’re on the phone and he looks to their face. He imagines their lips moving, as if they were right here talking to him.

            There’s none of that here.

            In fact, he's made no mention of family at all – save for Dean’s. He had been expecting Cas to bring it up at some point, let Dean know just what he should prepare for when they go to his family for their holiday – to uphold his end of the deal. ‘ _Because that’s what Cas wants… right?_ ’

            Dean freezes. He leans against the counter and cracks open the beer, taking a sip.

            He realizes he doesn’t know  _what_ Cas wants from him.

            He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Cas to tell him what he’ll have to do for him. He’s not doing this out of the kindness of his heart, Dean’s sure of that. It’s not like he needs money – this place must run _high_ , and Dean’s professor’s salary barely scrapes by as is. There is Cas’s family to consider… he said they bought the place _and_ the furniture. In fact… that’s the first he thinks he’s heard about them. An alarm sounds in his mind, a feeling that Cas isn’t telling him something – a _lot_ of somethings. The most pressing one is why he’s helping Dean. There’s a voice, a whisper, rising from his chest and singing a sweet melody in his head, but it can’t be right. It’s not like _Cas_ could ever be attracted to someone like him…

            His blush deepens, and he takes an even larger sip to cool the fire.

            “Dean? Did you find it?”

            He breaks from his trance, and looks to the entryway. Cas is standing there, looking at Dean with concern. Dean feels his heart sink the tiniest bit. ‘ _Play the game, Dean,_ ’ he thinks, ‘ _That’s all you’ll **get** to do_.’ “Yeah,” he says, walking towards him, “was just wondering what it must be like to have an ice-maker in your fridge.”

            “It’s… handy,” Cas says. He places a hand on Dean’s shoulder, “Are you sure you’re –“

            “Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves off, walking back to the living room, Cas following, “So… what do you think?”

            Castiel looks like he wants to say more, but sighs instead. “I think you’re an excellent writer,” he says, picking up the binder, “but I will need more time with this. It’s not really my… _genre_.”

            “Well,” Dean smiles, veering the topic far, far away, “What is?”

            Dean sits, enraptured for the next two hours as Cas explains his fascination with science fiction books. The adventure, the wonder… the _freedom –_ Dean agrees with every word. And when Cas starts to wind down, Dean smirks and leans across the seat to whisper, “But you call _me_ the dork?”

            Cas blushes, pushing him away with a mumbled, “Shut up.”

            Dean can’t help but laugh, and fall a little bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment or a kudos to let me know how you're liking this so far!


	5. Cuffed to Meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ho-Ho-How are you liking it so far? Here's the next chapter!

            “Why are you fighting me on this?”

            “Because I _refuse_ to wear… that!”

            Dean scoffs and pulls the leather chaps closer to his chest, “These babies are fan-freakin-tastic! What do you mean you don’t want to wear them?”

            Cas tries hard not to yell, Dean can tell. He’s been spending enough time with the other man that he’s starting to understand a few of Cas’s facial tics. Like when he’s excited, his mouth twitches into a half-smile. When he starts getting sleepy, his head lulls to the right, which is different from when he’s confused, when it tilts towards the left.

            And now, Dean can see Cas’s eyebrows climb ridiculously high like they only do when he’s mad.

            “Because I don’t want to be a cowboy for Halloween!” he says, hands thrown in the air.

            “Hey,” Dean starts, “It’s not like you have a couple’s costume readily available!”

            “And you _did_?” Cas asks, squinting, “Where did you even _get_ that?”

            Dean blushes. “None of your damn business, that’s where.”

            “Besides,” Cas continues, “Do we even need to wear the same costume-“

            “Yes!” Dean shouts now, “That is the whole point of Halloween. You either dress as a couple, or dress slutty so you can forget the fact you _didn’t_ come as a couple.”

            “That… is a very _warped_ view on Halloween,” Cas says, “So you’re telling me you went as a _sexy cowboy_ this Halloween?”

            Dean's red face transitions from rouge to tomato. “Shut up.”

            “Whatever, I still refuse,” Cas shakes his head, folding his arms across his chest, “There’s no way you can make me wear that.”

            Dean glares at him, “Wanna bet?”

            He raises a brow at Dean, “Is that a challenge?”

            “Only one if you say yes.”

            Cas mulls it over, if his pursed lips are anything to go by. Dean doesn’t budge, only gripping the chaps tighter and tighter as the silence rolls on. He jumps when Cas lets out a small huff. “You’re on,” he says, “What is the challenge?”

            “Simple,” Dean says, smiling, “If you can guess what I have behind my back, _you_ can pick our costumes.”

            “That’s all?”

            “Yep!” Dean chirps, putting the chaps down carefully on his sofa, “But it won’t be easy. Close your eyes!”

            “All right, all right!”

            Cas closes his eyes, and Dean carefully moves towards his bathroom. He reaches for his toilet wand and smirks smugly to himself. He practically skips back, reclaiming his spot near the window and clearing his throat.

            “Alright, Cas, guess.”

            “Can I open my eyes?”

            Dean shrugs, “Why not?”

            Cas does so, and immediately squints at Dean. All Dean does is smile innocently, trying to contain the nervous excitement coursing through him. Cas places his fists on his hips and leans in.

            “Hey!” Dean calls out, “Stay there!”

            “I’m not going to cheat, “ he says, pouting and fluttering his eyelashes. Dean rolls his eyes, but doesn’t budge. Castiel frowns harder, and starts to scratch at his scruff.

            “Hmm…”

            ‘ _He’s never going to get thi-‘_

“A toilet wand?” Dean’s smile drops, and he gapes at Cas, who’s raising a critical brow. “Really Dean?”

            “How’d you… what did –“

            “If you forgot, Dean, I’m a detective,” Cas moves closer, “I used my _awesome_ powers of deduction.”

            “No way,” Dean huffs, “ _Bullshit_.”

            “Let me tell you exactly how I discovered what was behind your back,” Cas smirks, circling Dean. His eyes are predatory, and Dean feels a hot flush work its way down his body. “Your clothing was a bit rumpled, you were out of breath, and I didn’t hear any doors close – so you had to have grabbed something not from this room but somewhere nearby.” He grabs a hold of Dean’s wrist, still frozen behind his back. “The way you were holding it was similar to how you would hold many things that have handles, so that decreased my options.” He lets go, and Dean’s hands fall to his sides, the wand barely grazing his carpet. He leans in to Dean’s ear, nearly pressed against his back. “And you want to know how I came to my answer?”

            Dean’s in a haze – his eyes half-lidded, and he leans closer to press against Cas’s chest. He asks in a husky whisper, “H-how?”

            Cas tells him. “The reflection in the window.”

            And just like that he’s gone, and Dean feels a sudden rush of cold. He blinks, stumbling forward without Cas's chest to catch him. He’s smiling cheekily at Dean, standing victorious. Dean pouts, rosy cheeked.

            “I thought you said you weren’t gonna cheat?”

            “If I played by the rules I wouldn’t be here,” Cas laughs, “But speaking of rules…”

            He tells Dean what he wants to see him in. Dean’s eyes widen, and something butterflies or  _eagles_  fly around in his stomach. ' _If Cas didn’t have to follow the rules, why should I?_ ' But then he sees Cas barely containing his mirth, and can’t find it in him to crush his fun. “Fine,” he says, “Let me make a call…”

            It takes three hours before there’s a knock on Dean’s door. He looks at Cas before slowly trudging to open the door. There's a large bundle on the other side, under which two legs shift back and forth. “Dean!” Charlie says from behind, “Take these before they crush me!”

            He lets her dump the stuff into his arms with a small ‘oof’ and quickly enters. Dean follows, his bowlegs buckling.

            “Jesus, Charlie,” Dean groans, “what’s in this?”

            “Everything you need,” she frowns, “And on short notice, too. You know how many strings I had to pull? I don’t know why you even want – oh! _Hello_.”

            Dean unloads the bundle by his armchair and stretches, watching Cas and Charlie from off to the side.

            “Hello,” Cas smiles, holding his hand out, “Dean’s told me a lot about you, Charlie.”

            She leaves him hanging, instead circling him like he did Dean earlier, albeit with a different sort of tension in the air. Cas shoots a look over to Dean, and all he can do is shrug back.

            Finally, Charlie stops where she started, turning to Dean.

            “Perfectly normal – on the _outside_ ,” she turns back, “But if I find out you’re some sort of psycho I’ll make you disappear, got it?”

            “…Understood.”

            “Great!” Charlie chirps, throwing her arms around Cas in a giant hug, “Nice to meet you!”

            Dean chuckles at the frightened look on Cas’s face.

            Charlie lets him go, skipping over to Dean and punching his shoulder. “Ow!” Dean yelps, rubbing his now bruising skin, “What was that for?”

            “For making me carry all that stuff,” she grumbles, “And also making me wait this long before I meet your ball-and-chain.”

            “Please, Charlie, enough with the straight jokes,” Dean sighs, moving to the bundles. “Which one is mine?”

            “The smaller one,” she points out, then motions with her hand, “bring the other one here. Your knight in shining tin is gonna need my help getting into it all.” She squints at Cas, “You’re about his height – a little beefier – so it’ll fit nice and _tight_.”

            “… _Joy_.”

            “Hey, you picked the costume,” Dean grumbles, taking his bag to his room, “I’m gonna change.”

            “We’ll be here when you get back!” she calls out, “At least... one of us will!”

            “Dean –“!

            “She’s harmless,” Dean reassures, walking into his bedroom and locking the door behind him. He pauses, thinking, and shrugs, “Mostly.”

            He goes to his bed and unceremoniously dumps it all out. Picking the gingham overalls up by the straps, he holds it close his body. It cuts off mid-thigh.

            ‘ _This is gonna take some **courage**._ ’ Dean throws it down and heads towards his nightstand drawer and pulls out a small, metal flask. He swirls it around, smirking when he hears the familiar sloshing sound.

            “Come to me, Jack,” he sighs, twisting it open and taking a long swig. He chugs, all the while unbuttoning his plaid shirt and slipping it off. He pulls the flask away with a final slurp, tossing it onto his bed.

            He feels a slight buzz, but could still use some _more_ help. So, he leans down and reaches under his bed for the half-full bottle of Southern Comfort he left there last time he watched _The Notebook_.

            He drinks for a good 30 seconds, wiping away the residue around his mouth.

            “That feels better!” he sighs, collapsing onto the bed. He continues to strip, slipping his jeans off and kicking them away. He sits up, turning to face his mirror above the dresser. Standing, he walks closer, inspecting his stomach. Dean pinches it, some of the skin bunching up around the middle.

            ‘ _Hibernation must be settin’ in_ ,’ he thinks, giggling. Clad in nothing but his boxer shorts, he turns back to the costume.

            But a wicked idea has him heading back towards his dresser. He pulls the top drawer open and starts to dig, tossing away underwear after underwear, sock after sock, until he finds the soft, satiny panties he bought himself last Valentine’s Day – the same day he watched _The Notebook_. ' _…It was a lonely Valentine’s Day._   _But if he wants me in that costume..._ ’ Dean slides his boxers down to his ankles and stepping out of them to put the panties on. They fit just like they did before, albeit a little snug. ‘ _Then he’s gonna suffer, too._ ’

            He goes for the white button-up next. It takes awhile, missing buttons every so often. But when he’s done, it looks good. It’s short like the overalls, and cuts off mid-bicep, shaped nicely around it. The overalls are next, sliding smoothly up; He fastens them easily, and pulls at the pant leg. It’s a little _too_ tight, but the material is soft, so he's not really complaining.

            ‘ _Now the most important part_ ,’ Dean thinks, grabbing for the stockings. He tries pulling them up standing, until he nearly falls over. He scoots over to the bed and flops down, getting a good angle to pull the sheer material up. Dean flexes his foot, staring at it through the shimmery fabric. He does the same when he pulls the other stocking up.

            “Almost done,” he mumbles, flailing his hand until it finds purchase on the shoes.

            The bright, sparkling, ruby red shoes.

            Even in Dean’s alcohol-addled mind, he appreciates the work that went into the shoes. It must have been hard to get these looking so nice – they were modeled after a men’s wingtip so they’re _custom._  ' _Charlie is a real miracle worker_.'

            Dean slips the shoes on, admiring them even further.

            “Y’know,” he whispers to himself, “this ain’t that half bad.”

            It’s actually _not_ bad at all, Dean decides, when he stares at himself in the mirror. He looks _hot_.

            Was this Cas’s plan all along?

            ‘ _Shit, Cas_ ,’ he thinks, looking to his door. He doesn’t remember how long he’s been in here, and how long he’s left Charlie alone with Cas – if she hasn’t scared him away yet. Dean shuffles towards the door and throws it open.

            “And then - then Dean climbs off the bull and trips! After staying on the entire time!”

            They’re laughing, Charlie putting the finishing touches on Castiel’s silver make-up.

            Dean relaxes, leaning against his doorjamb. He rakes his eyes up and down Cas. Charlie was right, the costume did fit nice and tightly – especially around his ass. The hat sat crooked atop Cas’s sex hair, and his face was nearly drowning in the silver make-up.

            “Hey,” he calls out, “Where’s my basket?” The two turn to him. Charlie squeals in delight, clapping. Cas, however, is silent. His mouth drops open, and Dean almost swears he sees the black of his pupils expand. “So,” he chuckles, twirling towards them, “What do you think?”

            “You look so nice! You should have gone as this for Halloween this year instead of a cowboy for the umpteenth time!”

            “You don’t mess with a classic,” Dean snorts, “…Although, I’m not opposed to wearing _this_ again.”

            Charlie snicklers, elbowing Cas right where the faux heart is seared on, “Ya hear that, Tin Man? Your Dorothy likes.”

            “Y-yes,” Cas stutters, looking away, “Charlie? Are we finished here?”

            “Yeah, just about,” she puts the paint down. She moves back to the bundle and hands Dean his basket. He grabs it, but before he can pull away Charlie drags him in close. She sniffs his breath and glares. “You’re drunk,” she hisses.

            “ _Tipsy_ ,” he clarifies, “Had to be to put this on.”

            “Don’t do anything stupid.”

            He scoffs, “As if I could.”

            “Can we please take the picture?” Cas calls out, “the metal is starting to poke me in places that should _not_ be poked.”

            “Yeah, yeah hold your horses,” Charlie sighs, “Give me your phones-“

            “Polaroid!” Dean interrupts; pointing to the camera he’s made space for on his bookshelf. There are a few pictures underneath of Dean and Cas already, and now they’ll add one more.

            “Okay, that too,” she says, grabbing it, “get into position.”

            Dean slinks over to Cas and throws an arm around him, leaning close.

            “Dean?” he asks, “W-what are you doing?”

            “It’s a couple’s costume,” he purrs, “Got to get close.”

            There’s a flash, and Dean turns to see Charlie pulling her phone down.

            “Wasn’t ready.”

            “That was on your _phone_ ,” she says, “hurry up!”

            “Hold me Cas,” Dean says, tugging at Cas’s hands with his free arm to place them low on his body. Dean arches into him and puts his hand on Cas’s chin. They’re staring into each other’s eyes. Charlie takes another picture, the Polaroid whirring as it prints it out.

            “Dean,” Cas whispers, his rumbling voice sending shockwaves through Dean’s body. He shivers, leaning closer. He looks down at Cas’s lips and licks his own.

            “Yeah, Cas?”

            “What am I feeling?” Cas asks, running a hand over Dean’s hip.

            Dean smiles and replies, “My panties.”

            “Your _what_!”

            _Flash!_

* * *

             A picture of a wide-eyed Cas in his tin-man costume pops up on Dean’s cell. He’s staring at himself in his office mirror, fixing the bowtie above his Christmas sweater. The phone blasts out Tavares’ ‘Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel’, startling him. He pulls too tight, and ruins the not. “Dammit…” He glares at the phone and answers with a harsh, “What?”

            “…Dean?”

            “Cas!” he says, quickly calming down, “Where are you? The party’s already started.”

            “I got held up at work,” he explains, “The guy we were taking in got a bit rowdy and I had to take him down. My knuckles are a bit raw.”

            “Do you want me to find a first aid kit?” Dean asks, “I’m sure I have one…”

            “If you don’t mind…”

            Dean turns, Castiel standing in the doorway with a tired smile. He’s in his trademark outfit, save for a festive sweater Dean had leant him for the faculty party. It’s a little more red then usual, as there are a few bloodstains smeared over the reindeers.

            “Holy shit,” Dean says, taking him in, “Just your knuckles are _raw_?” He takes Cas’s hand and leads him to a couch he’s got pressed against the wall.

            “Maybe more,” Cas snorts, but winces, fingers hovering around his nose.

            “Why didn’t you go home first?”

            “I was already late as it is,” Cas shrugs, “Didn’t seem fair of me to be later.”

            Dean smiles. “You’re such a big sap. Here, rub this peroxide over your cuts. It’ll sting, but you won’t get sick,” Dean says, “I’m gonna go get some ice.”

            He practically runs to Professor Shurley’s office. Shurley's a nice man; a little timid, but easy to talk to – and almost _never_ there. Dean’s not sure he’s seen him at all this semester, and probably won’t see him down at the Holiday Party either. But, somehow, his office door is always open. Which comes in handy when he needs to grab some ice from his mini-fridge.

            Dean comes back to see Cas rummaging through the kit on his own. Dean kneels and grabs Cas by the chin, titling him up to look at him thoroughly.

            “Wow,” Dean mutters, pressing the ice to Cas’s nose, “He must have really done a number on you.”

            “Not the worse,” Cas hisses through the pain, putting his hand over Dean’s to push the ice closer, “One time this perp stabbed me in the leg. Meg had her on the ground before she could do more damage.”

            “Shit, is it like that every day?”

            “Only on Wednesdays,” Cas huffs, “I was searching for some painkillers. Can you…?”

            “Yeah – yeah, sure.” Dean lets Cas take the ice, returning to the kit to find the Advil. It doesn’t take long. He pops the cap open and gives two to Cas. He swallows them dry.

            “How do I look?” Cas asks, pulling the ice pack away and smiling. His nose is swollen, and two dark bruises are forming under his eyes. Dean’s finally noticed the cut on Cas’s lip, how they’re struggling to keep the smile pulled.

            “Rugged.”

            “Good,” Cas starts to get up, but Dean pushes him back.

            “Where are you going?”

            “To the party,” Cas says, frowning, “You said we were late –“

            “Cas, you’re hurt, we don’t have to go –“

            “This party is important to you,” Cas stops him, holding his hand, “And like I told you – I’ve had worse.”

            “You don’t have to pretend with them,” Dean whispers, “They’re my colleagues, not my family.”

            “Still,” Cas gets up, shrugging, “I’m here.”

            “Yeah, you’re here,” Dean grumbles. He tries to look annoyed, but can’t help how his heart swells thinking about how Cas chose to come to Dean instead of going home. He grabs Cas’s hand and leads him out of his office. “So since you’re here,” Dean continues, “you might as well have fun.”

            “Thank you, Dean.”

            Dean leads Cas down to the college cafeteria – the usual tables and chairs having been cleared away for the faculty and their families to gather and chat. He’s rambling, explaining to him how it usually goes – the people he usually looks out for and the ones he tries to avoid. How Dean doesn’t stay long because he only really knows and _likes_ a few people in the entire administration and faculty.

            “And whatever you do,” Dean stops him outside the doorway, “don’t bring up work. You’re entering the world of academia – and I’m not in the mood for someone to start a pissing contest.”

            “Okay?”

            “Okay.”

            Dean collects himself, gripping Cas’s hand a little tighter, and enters.

            The party is in full swing. Dean spies a few trays of hor dourves already empty, and the small amount waiters still walking around only have a few pieces of tiny snacks left on their plate. They didn’t miss all the food, as he can see the caterers preparing the buffet near the sides. There’s light Christmas music playing the background, but the main source of sound are the conversations piggybacking on and off each other.

            “You hungry?”

            “Somewhat…”

            “Come on, then,” Dean smiles back at Cas, “let’s get on line.” Dean pulls him through the crowd, heading towards the long table of food. He grabs plates and hands one to Cas. With the tinfoil finally removed, they’re the first to collect their fill while others start to congregate nearby.

            “I’d avoid the rice,” Dean whispers to Cas, “Looks exactly like the kind they had last time. Didn’t taste right.”

            “Thanks for the warning.”

            They’re grabbing drinks when Dean feels someone calling his name. “Jody!” Dean smiles, turning. Professor Jody Mills of the Criminology department drags him into a hug, Dean doing his best to not spill his food all over her.

            “I was wondering where you were,” she says, “Donna ‘n I were making a bet on what might have kept you –“ she notices Cas, “Although maybe we were _both_ wrong.”

            “It wasn’t that,” Dean sighs, “Jody, this is Cas. My, uh – My _boyfriend_.”

            “Your,” she blinks, pointing between the two, “Your boyfriend?”

            “…Yeah.”

            “Finally,” she groans, throwing an arm around Cas and leading him away, “You don’t know how long we’ve been waiting for ol’ Dean to find someone –“

            “Hey!”

            “Really it was getting pathetic,” she finally notices his nose, “What happened to you?”

            “Workplace accident,” he shrugs, “I’m a detective.”

            “No foolin’? So was I,” she chats Cas up, bringing him to the other professors Dean gets along with. He's not far behind, and greets them all: Donna Hanscum, also in the Criminology Department, Missouri Moseley of the Philosophy Department, and Garth Fitzgerald. He’s not a professor, but works in the administration as a Counselor. “Hey everybody,” Jody laughs, “Look what Dean brought. A _boy_!”

            Donna and Garth giggle, joining Jody in their teasing. Dean wills his face to stay its usual pale color, but he's sure specks of red break through.

            “Now, Jody, you’re too old to be acting like a little girl,” Missouri smirks, “Leave the young man alone.”

            Dean sighs, “Thank you, Missouri –“

            “He’s already had to be seen with Dean, that’s more than enough trouble.”

            “Y’know I take it back,” Dean pouts, turning to Cas, “Why did we come here?”

            “Oh hush boy,” she laughs, patting his arm, “You know we’re only playing with you. Why didn’t you tell us you were seeing someone?”

            “It’s… well… it’s kind-of new territory,” Dean jokes, glancing at Cas, “Thought it might be easier to just bring him.”

            “Oh that it is,” Donna says, “Because now _both_ of you can tell us everything!”

            And so they do. Cas and Dean tell them the story they’ve prepared for Dean’s family. It goes smoothly: they speak in tandem, never over each other and always helping to fill in some missing blanks. Dean finishes his food, but he’s having so much fun talking with them, he doesn’t want to leave. However, when he sees Cas holding his own empty plate awkwardly, looking around, Dean acts.

            “Here, let me,” he says, grabbing it from Cas’s hand, “I’ll be back.” And for good measure, he drops a small kiss to Cas’s crown that has Donna and Garth cooing.

            There are less people to move around, some having already left. Dean checks his watch to see that it’s nearing eleven, a good hour after he usually leaves. He looks behind him to see Cas and his friends. Jody is laughing at something Cas has said, and he looks… proud.

            Dean remembers Cas saying he’s not usually good with people. You wouldn’t be able to tell with how he’s acting tonight. He’s looser, more relaxed, not at all like when Dean met him the first time. ‘ _Wonder what’s changed…_ ’

            “Why, hello, Winchester, fancy running into _you_ here.”

            ‘ _Shit_.’

            Dean grimaces at Arthur Ketch, a member of _his_ department. He teaches European History, mainly European Imperialism  & the Tactics and Warfare. Ketch is also the biggest pain in Dean’s ass – and _not_ in a fun way. “Ketch,” Dean says, “Is it really a fancy if you run into me here _every_ year?”

            “You’re right,” Ketch smirks, trailing a hand up and down Dean’s arm, “My apologies. I should have said what a misfortune it is that we are speaking right now.”

            “You’re the one who started this conversation.”

            “And you’re the one who insists on staying where he isn’t wanted.”

            ' _And there we go_.' His colleague has never been subtle about his disdain for him, having gone as far as trying to have him fired on Day One. He’d be offended if he didn’t know it was because Ketch felt threatened by his presence. It’s not his fault he’s _charming_.

            “You’re the only one who doesn’t want me here,” Dean hisses, shooing Ketch’s hand away, “Why don’t you try leaving me alone, anyhow – at least until the New Year. Consider it you’re gift to me.”

            “And you know what would be a delightful present,” Ketch grins predatorily, leaning in, “seeing you –“

            “Is there a problem here?”

            Cas stands between them, arms crossed against his chest. He’s glaring at Ketch as if his eyes could immediately smite him where he stands. Ketch leans back and snakes an arm across Dean’s shoulders.

            “Not at all,” he chuckles, “me and my friend here were just _talking_.”

            “Didn’t look like that to me.”

            “And who are you, exactly?”

            “Dean’s _boyfriend_.”

            Ketch’s smile falters, and Dean can feel the arm over him go heavy and limp. Dean slinks out of it and over to Cas’s side, squeezing his hand in thanks.

            “Oh,” Ketch recovers, trying to keep up his cheerful demeanor, “he’s never mentioned you before.”

            “And he’s never mentioned you – _ever_.”

            Ketch doesn’t try to play nice anymore. He matches Cas’s glare and steps into his personal space.

            “Listen here,” Ketch snarls, “I don’t know who you _think_ you are, but this was between me and Mr. Winchester. Now, why don’t you just scurry away to whatever alley ol’ Dean must have dug you up from – because that’s where he spends his free time when he’s not wasting impressionable students’ times with his fantasy theories – and let us return to our conversation?”

            Dean feels a large pit in his stomach. He’s glaring daggers at Ketch, knuckles twitching to hit that smug, smarmy bastard right in his cheekbone.

            But he’s not the only one. Cas grabs Ketch’s tie and yanks him down. He leans into the other man's ear, and Dean has to concentrate to hear what Cas says. “If you so much as _look_ at Dean in a way he doesn’t like – which I’m going to assume is _all_ ways, then I will make it my mission to find even the smallest of misdemeanors to bring you in on and get you deported back to England faster than you can say ‘Her Majesty’s Royal Service’. Now… are _we_ clear?”

            “…”

            Cas tugs him harder, “Are… we… _clear_.”

            “ _Crystal_.”

            Dean’s gawking at Cas openly: his mouth left gaping and dry, and his eyes glazed over. He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable in his now tightening pants.

            A fourth voice clears their throat. “Is everything alright?”

            Cas immediately loosens his grip, playing with Ketch’s tie in a friendly manner. “Not at all, ma’am,” he says, “Just fixing this man’s tie.” He pats Ketch on the back, hard.

            “If that’s all,” she smiles, turning to Ketch, “Professor, if you will? I think I heard Bevell asking about your whereabouts.”

            “…Of course,” he grimaces, “Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting. Goodbye…” He walks away, tail between his legs. Dean would be grinning if he didn’t fear for his life and his tenure at the moment.

            “We haven’t been introduced, I’m Doctor Billie LaMorte,” Billie holds a hand out to Cas, which he takes, “Chair for the History Department.”

            “Chair for the…” he looks to Dean, “Dean’s boss?”

            “In a way,” she shrugs, swirling her champagne glass, “but I tend to think of myself as a _friend_ to my colleagues – well, _most_ of them.” She looks at both Dean and Cas. He can’t breath, while Cas just tilts his head in confusion. “I like what you did back there,” she smirks, “Not many people can strike the fear of God into Ketch – like me a man like that. But I think I’ve heard through the grapevine that you’re somehow… _unavailable_?”

            Dean spurs into action, awkwardly holding Cas’s hand up. He clears his throat and beams wide, “Yeah – yes, yes he is. He’s my boyfriend.”

            Billie closes the distance and gently nudges their clasped hands back down. “Relax, Dean,” she smiles, “Don’t be so jumpy. It _is_ a party after all.” She pulls back, turning to Cas. “I’m sorry our first meeting had to be like this, hopefully Dean will bring you back around at the beginning of next semester so we can have a proper conversation.”

            “I… I hope so, as well.”

            “Great,” she says, taking a sip of her drink, “Well, happy holidays to you both. Dean, enjoy the break, you deserve it. And you… keep treating our boy right. He’s going places.” She walks away, her heels clacking powerfully against the linoleum.

            Dean is star-struck. He feels Cas tip his jaw close, and that shocks him out of his stupor.

            “She’s… nice,” he says.

            “Nice?” Dean splutters, “Cas she is more than just nice! She has _two_ PhDs – which she got at the _same_ time. She’s written five different books and has given lecture series on at least three of them. She’s been listed in the Top 25 Professors in America article five years in a row! She… she…”

            “She gave you a compliment,” Cas smiles, “meaning she has a lot of faith in you.”

            “Yeah…”

            “Come on,” Cas pulls Dean away, “your friends were getting worried about you.”

            “Oh, right,” Dean blinks, “Sorry.” They make it back to the group, each talking over the other trying to find out where Dean went. He recounts the story, and practically has to hold Jody back from threating Ketch again. “It’s alright,” he calms her, “Cas went above and beyond – really.”

            The party really starts to wind down after that. Missouri leaves first. Her son and granddaughter are driving up in the morning and she wants to be awake to greet them. Garth follows, saying his wife is probably wondering where he is by now. Jody and Donna leave together, deciding to keep the party rolling by hitting up their favorite dives and seeing who can score the most numbers.

            Dean and Cas are the last to go. They grab their jackets from Dean’s office and walk out, with Dean’s arm casually draped over Cas. He’s laying his head across Cas’s shoulder, threading his fingers through his messy hair.

            “Did you have fun?” Cas asks him, hand nestled in Dean’s back pocket.

            “Y’know… I _did_ ,” Dean snorts, “Weird. What about you?”

            “Usually I am not a fan of parties but… I did not mind this one.”

            “You were killin’ it tonight,” Dean agrees, “They loved you.”

            “Nonsense,” Cas waves him off, “they love _you_. They enjoyed my presence – they _really_ don’t know me.”

            And Cas is right. They don’t know him. They know Dean’s boyfriend and… that’s not really who Cas is. Dean’s not even sure he knows who Cas might be. He’s just a man helping him out.

            ‘ _But he’s going above and beyond_.’

            “Listen,” Dean starts, standing straight, “What you did tonight – you didn’t really have to do it, but… I’m glad that you did. And I’m not just talking about with Ketch, I mean with… _everything_. Thank you.”

            “Dean,” Cas chuckles, grinning, “I’m just happy that you are okay. No one deserves to be treated like that – especially _you_. I’m glad I could step in and do something.”

            It’s twenty degrees outside, but Dean wouldn’t know it. It feels like summer the way his skin is heating up. He blushes and looks down.

            “I should,” he mumbles, stepping away, “I should probably head home.”

            “Are you okay to drive?” Cas asks, grabbing Dean’s wrist, rubbing his thumb up and down, “My place isn’t that far and I have an air mattress. It’s late –“

            “No, I – I’m fine,” he laughs, “Not the first time I’ve made this drive. You go home though and relax, you’ve had an eventful day.” Dean steels his nerves, and leans forward. He’s aiming for Cas’s lips, but at the last second he turns and kisses him right on the corner of where his lips are. He can hear Cas’s sharp intake.

            Dean pulls back, “Night.”

            “…Goodnight, Dean.”

            Dean turns and walks towards the parking garage. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and takes one last look at Cas. He’s still there, watching Dean with a small smile and a dazed look in his eye.

            He walks on air back to Baby, and for the entire ride home, he pretends there was never any deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying the story! Leave kudos and comments to let me know!


	6. Cuffed to Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ends the first arc of this story... enjoy!

            According to Dean, Baby has seen it all. It was his father’s originally, having bought it when some stranger talked him _out_ of getting a VW bus (“ _I’d like to buy that guy a drink,_ ” _Dean said_ ). Since then, the car has never been out of sight of the Winchesters. He and Mary would ride around the town of Lawrence, spending late nights cruising down back roads and sitting out in fields for the two to rest on. It was there for when Mary was pregnant with Dean, and again with Sam. When they came along, they started to make Baby theirs. When Dean was only eight, he had carved his and Sam’s initials near the rear window. Throughout his childhood, Sam had taken to leaving hidden mementos – an army man in the ashtray and a Lego in the air conditioner (“ _Green – to match the army guy!”_ )

            As the Winchester boys grew up, their love and respect for Baby split. Sam’s didn’t diminish in any way, Castiel was told, but Dean’s had only continued to skyrocket. For his sixteenth birthday, he had worked out an entire speech to convince John to give her to him. What Dean _didn’t_ know was that he and Mary had already bought a van so they’d have something to drive when Dean found they keys to the Impala on his nightstand in the morning.

            It was weird, to him, how much a man could love a car. Growing up in the city, he’s only ever relied on public transportation and – fairly recently – Uber. He drives for work, but that’s just it, _work_. Cars had never mattered to _him_. But to Dean, his car was like his child – his _Baby._ He cooed at how her engine had purred on the first try, even in the cold of winter. He was extra careful, going practically 20 miles under the speed limit to not slip in the snow.

            He’s not the most watchful parent, however, since he wasn’t keeping his _eyes_ on the road – but Castiel doesn’t mind that at all. Since when Dean’s eyes aren’t on the road, they’re looking at him. Makes him feel warm in a way that the vents in the car don’t.

            Dean’s saying something, so Castiel turns his focus back to him.

            “…always go out here, they have the best,” Dean says, smiling, “Unfortunately, it _can_ take the whole day. If you had plans for the rest of your afternoon, well – I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be,” Castiel smiles, putting a hand over Dean’s where it rests between them on the leather bench seat, “I haven’t been in a car for this long – or gone this far out – in forever.”

            And that’s really the truth. When Dean had invited him to get his Christmas tree from a lot out in Long Island, Castiel’s mind had immediately flashed back to trips to the Hampton where he’d be sitting in the back with his brothers and sister, fighting, laughing, crying, all while their Nanny shushed them from the driver’s seat.

            His mother and father were always too busy to drive up with them – always more important things to handle first. They’d drive up the next day, though, and leave that night.

            “Really?” Dean asks, “So… what’s the verdict? You enjoying yourself?”

            “Well, my left leg might be getting restless… I’ve been starving for the better part of an hour… the music isn’t to my taste,” Dean shoots him a glare just as Robert Plant finishes a verse, “But, the _company_ really makes up for all that.”

            “You really know how to make a guy feel special, Cas,” Dean chuckles, “check the glove compartment – might have left a candy bar or somethin’ in there.” Castiel does find something, a half-eaten Snickers Bar. He holds it up to Dean with a deadpan look.

            Dean sheepishly smiles at him, “Whoops?”

            “If I wasn’t ready to gnaw my arm off I’d throw this out the window,” Castiel grumbles, unwrapping the bar and taking a large bite. He swallows, mumbling, “Not even the best candy bar.”

            “What? Are you out of your mind? Snickers are top tier candy.”

            “Maybe if you like _nuts_ ,” Castiel fires, taking another bite.

            “Alright Mr. Sweet Tooth,” Dean says, “What do you think is the ‘Best Candy Bar’?”

            Castiel answers almost immediately, “Mounds.”

            “Mounds?”

            “Yes,” Castiel smiles, finishing off the Snickers, “I like the coconut.”

            Dean scoffs, “Probably the only one who does.”

            “Hey!”

            “Seriously, Cas, I thought you had better taste than that,” Dean laughs, “If it wasn’t practically the North Pole out there I’d kick you out and pick you up after I get _my_ tree.”

            “You wouldn’t do that,” Castiel smiles, “Besides, I have _perfect_ taste.”

            “Do you?”

            “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

            Castiel blushes, looking down. He didn’t mean for that to slip out, but it had. He can see out of the corner of his eye that Dean has finally returned his eyes to the road. His hand feels heavy and awkward over Dean’s, so he shifts it back to his lap.

            “So,” Castiel tries, “…how far away is the tree lot now?”

            “Shouldn’t be -” he clears his throat, “-shouldn’t be too long. Maybe another half-hour.”

            “And you’ve… you’ve gotten a tree here, every year?”

            “No,” Dean says, “The first year I was here, I had this crummy little plastic one? Couldn’t really afford or find a tree. But when I was talking to Jody after Winter Break, she was really hyping this place up – apparently she’s friends with the guy who owns the lot. Told me to go next year with her blessing _and_ her discount. Haven’t strayed since.”

            “And the trees have been good?”

            “The best,” he smiles, “I call ahead and have Rufus put one away for me. Usually, I get it right after school ends but with-” he motions between them, “-I’ve been… distracted. He said if I didn’t pick it today he’d use it for his fireplace.”

            “Rufus?”

            “Rufus Turner,” Dean turns to him again, “He’s a little rough around the edges but you’ll love him. Here we are!”

            Dean pulls into the parking lot, and Castiel looks out the window. It’s a very large plot of land, but also visibly barren. They’re the only car here, and Castiel has a clear view of the house in the middle of the field. They step out of the Impala. Castiel pulls his scarf tighter around his neck, when he hears shouting.

            “What took you so long?”

            Castiel looks over Baby’s roof to see an old black man decked out in heavy winter gear making their way towards them. Castiel looks to Dean, only to see he’s already meeting the other man halfway.

            “Rufus!” Dean yells back, dragging him into a hug, “Did we worry ya’?”

            “Yeah,” he says, pulling back, “Thought I’d have to lose out on some profit.”

            “Still the same as always,” Dean chuckles, pocketing his hands. He looks back at Castiel and motions him forward with his head. Rufus peeks out behind Dean and raises a brow.

            “Now who’s this?”

            “I’m Castiel,” he says, holding a hand out, “I’m Dean’s –“

            “Boyfriend.”

            Castiel blinks at Dean, startled. He turns back to Rufus to recover, “Yes, his boyfriend.”

            “Huh,” Rufus says, staring at Castiel’s hand. After a while, Castiel pulls hit back. “Well I’ll be.” He turns to Dean, “Finally managed to find someone who won’t be annoyed with you after five minutes, huh, Winchester?”

            “Shut up,” Dean mumbles, blushing. He clears his throat, “So… the tree?”

            “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Rufus says, turning, “if you’ll follow me you can finally remove that damned eyesore off my property.”

            Rufus takes the lead, and Castiel and Dean fall into step behind him. Dean’s making small talk with Rufus, but Castiel’s mind is focusing on just one thing.

            ‘ _Boyfriend._ ’

            Dean had jumped in, almost scared that Castiel was going to say something. He wasn’t, though, which was the stranger thing. This was his first time meeting Rufus, the _only_ time he’d be seeing him, and there was no point in lying. Especially since he seems to be the type of person to keep to himself. Still, his first instinct was to go with ‘boyfriend.’

            ‘ _I should be glad that’s my instinct_ ,’ Cas thinks, ‘ _It will make things easier once Dean’s family visits._ ’

            Before he could ponder any longer, Rufus and Dean come to a stop behind the house. The tree is there, packaged and wrapped, leaning against the back wall.

            “Here it is,” he points, “Now will you two _strong_ gentleman help an old man out and pick up both ends.”

            “Please, Rufus, you’re not old and _definitely_ stronger than anyone else your age,” Dean scoffs.

            “Yeah,” he smirks, “but I can’t do any work today. It’s the first day of Hanukkah!”

            Cas blinks. “You’re Jewish?”

            “What?” Rufus scowls, “Do I not _look_ Jewish?”

            “No, it’s just…” Castiel fumbles, “You own and operate a Christmas tree lot.”

            “So? Got bills to pay, and these damn things just happened to sprout up on my land,” Rufus says, turning to Dean, “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Winchester. Now both of you! Move!”

            Dean rolls his eyes but heads towards the tree. He leans down, grabbing hold of the base.

            “Cas,” he says, “could you –“

            “Of course,” Castiel nods, moving forward. He tips the tree forward to get a grip on the top. Dean re-positions the base on his shoulder, while Castiel feels some pine needles tickling his face.

            “You don’t know the customers I had to bat away from that,” Rufus starts, following them to Dean’s Baby, “Like vultures. Offering to pay twice what I would have gotten from you, even triple! But I said no – even if they were ready to tear my eyes out to get it!”

            “Sure they were, Rufus.”

            “Damn _straight_ they were,” he pauses, eyeing the two with a smirk, “Or should I use a different word given my company.”

            “If you’re done with your routine,” Dean huffs, “Could you help us out?”

            “Fine ya’ pansies,” Rufus stomps over, “Have to do everything anyway.” He moves toward Castiel and helps slide the tree on top of Baby. When the tree is safely on top, Dean pops the trunk open and grabs lengths of rope. He tosses some to Rufus and to Castiel.

            “I’ll get the back, Rufus you get the middle, and Cas you good to top?”

            Rufus smirks, “Am I gettin’ a peak at Dean Winchester’s bedroom talk?”

            Castiel can feel the heat creeping up to his ears. Dean splutters, and doesn’t even respond. He busies himself with tying down the tree. But Castiel can see the hint of red at the sliver of Dean’s neck that’s peeking out from behind his jacket collar.

            “Stop staring, lover boy,” Rufus claps him on the back, “Start tying!”

            With the three of them working, the tree is tied down in no time. Castiel is curious as to how they’ll be able to _keep_ the tree on top given how small a space Baby’s roof is. But Dean’s done this before so… he’ll have a little faith. He walks over to Dean as he’s paying Rufus.

            “Pleasure doing business with ya’,” Rufus says while pocketing his bills. He turns to Castiel, “And you make sure this boy doesn’t do anything stupid. He’s damn right good at it.”

            ‘ _Oh you have no idea_ ,’ Cas thinks. “I’ll be sure to do that. I hope you have an enjoyable Hanukkah celebration.”

            “I will once you two leave,” Rufus says, turning, “Don’t die on the way back to the city. It’ll look bad for my business.” He doesn’t say goodbye, walking back towards his home. Castiel watches him, mind whirling with questions.

            “Cas?” Dean asks, startling him, “You coming or what?”

            “Right…”

            They’re back on the road, somehow going even slower than before. Castiel plays with his hands in his lap, chewing on his lip. Dean focuses on the road, driving steadily.

            “So… what’d you think of Rufus?”

            “He,” Castiel starts, “He is… well, Rufus is…”

            “Yeah?”

            “…Something.”

            There’s a beat of silence. Then, Dean lets out a soft chuckle. He places a hand on Castiel’s thigh and squeezes, “Yeah. That was what I thought when I first met him, too.”

            Castiel doesn’t say anything. He lets Dean’s hand stay there for the rest of the ride back.

* * *

            “I can’t believe you’ve never seen _A Christmas Story_!”

            Castiel pouts, leaning back into Dean’s sofa. “I never found the time.” Dean scoffs again. “What?”

            “That’s bull if I’ve ever heard it, first off,” Dean starts, sliding right next to Castiel on the sofa, handing him his hot chocolate, “They air that shit 24 hours a day around this time – so the only way you wouldn’t have seen it is if you’ve been actively avoiding it.”

            Castiel squirms, taking a sip of his drink, “Usually I’m working all hours this time of year.”

            “What?”

            “The force becomes short-staffed,” Castiel shrugs, “I take as many shifts as I can to make up for the imbalance.”

            “You work all through Christmas?”

            “Is that… a bad thing?” Castiel looks at Dean, feeling uneasy at the way he’s looking at him.

            “What does your family think about you working Christmas?”

            Castiel stalls, trying to come up with an answer that’s not ‘ _I don’t know, I haven’t seen nor talked to them in almost forever but if I get the chance I’ll ask_.’ Instead, he turns to the TV and starts flicking through channels.

            “I haven’t really been able to see a ton of Christmas movies,” he says, “Are there any you might recommend?”

            He can see Dean frown from the corner of his eye. Can tell that he wants to push the subject more – he _should_ want to, it’s the normal thing to do. But for some reason, Dean decides to follow his lead. He grabs the remote from Castiel and brings up his recordings.

            “Yeah, I got a few saved,” he says, tucking himself further into the furniture and, coincidentally, Castiel. “I… uh, this might hit a little close to home, but it’s really good.”

            “What do you mean –“

            Castiel doesn’t have time to say anything. Dean shushes him as the movie begins to play. It’s one of those Hallmark movies, Castiel can see from the little logo on the corner of the screen, and he’s having a hard time figuring out just why Dean would say what he would until about halfway through the opening.

            Castiel leans in to Dean, “They’re doing exactly what we’re doing.”

            Dean snorts. “More like we’re doing what _they’re_ doing, Cas. This came out in 2008, we’re living in 2017.”

            “ _I_ came out in 2008.”

            Dean blinks at him, “Really?”

            “Yes.”

            He doesn’t say anything, instead choosing to take a long sip of his chocolate. Dean offers him a small smile and pats his knee.

            Castiel is trying to pay attention to the movie, but it’s hard with how Dean’s keeping his hand there, just like earlier in the car. Coupled with how Dean’s pressed up against his side… there are a lot of distractions.

            Which is why he’s being a little more forthcoming with his past then usual.

            ‘ _You don’t want to scare him off too soon, Castiel_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Otherwise you’ll miss out on all the **family** fun…_ ’ Although, judging by how well the movie is going, who knows if Castiel will make it that far with Dean’s family? “I hope when they visit it doesn’t go this horribly.”

            “They have to have drama, Cas,” Dean says, “Otherwise there wouldn’t be any plot. Besides,” he turns to him, “They didn’t nearly have enough time to spend together like we did.”

            “Yes,” Castiel agrees, “And their acting is quite horrible. I thought you said this was _good_.”

            “That’s what makes it so good. Besides, it’s Hallmark, not ABC Family.”

            “Freeform.”

            “Oh, so you know that?”

            Castiel shrugs.

            “Whatever.” Dean puts his mug down on the coffee table and burrows further into Castiel’s side. He can feel his arm, wedged between them start to lose feeling. He pulls his arm out and swings it over the back of the sofa. He only notices Dean’s blush a few minutes later.

            “Oh,” Castiel says, “My apologies. Is this…”

            “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, “Just needa…” Dean pulls his legs up and tucks himself fully into Castiel’s side. He pulls his arm over his shoulder. “S’not like we haven’t done this before – at least, that’s what we’ll be selling to my folks.”

            “Right… right…”

            Castiel lets Dean drop his head on his shoulder; humming at how natural and _right_ it all feels. When Castiel returns his attention to the screen, he has to stifle his laughter at how they’re practically mirroring the couple in the movie.

            ‘ _Like us in more ways then one_.’

            Castiel watches the male lead, some generic actor he’s probably seen in commercials. He’s looking down at the woman – ' _Teri Polo, of course_ ' – with this dumbfounded expression. A stupid grin splits his face wide open, but he’s doing an awful job at hiding it. ‘ _I hope I’ve never looked at Dean like that_ ,’ Castiel thinks, ‘ _Would be awkward trying to explain myself_.’

            Besides, how can you make something built on deceit last longer than planned? Dean only wants him here for his family - it’s been everything they’ve worked towards in the time they’ve spent together. Their lives aren’t being controlled by some unknown party who was typing away some carbon copy love story on a laptop. Dean and he didn’t meet in some coffee shop, through some dating app, or even by bumping into each other on the street. There were no trumpets or some angelic choir the second they locked eyes –just some random country song and the sounds of someone vomiting nearby.

            Dean wasn’t a woman – and neither was he. There didn’t seem any chance that this might work. Hollywood endings weren’t made for people like them.

            He must have been thinking about this for a while, because when he looks back at the TV, the man and Teri Polo are crying and he’s kissing her under some mistletoe. Their assorted friends and family are clapping, and it fades out just as the credit starts to roll.

            ‘ _I’m sure that’s exactly what will happen…_ ’

            Castiel grabs the remote, flipping to the next movie without a peep from Dean. It’s an animated film – something to keep his mind from straying to thoughts that will only make him feel worse.

            Halfway through the third movie, Castiel finally hears something from Dean. It’s small, but very distinct. Castiel pauses Rudolph to find Dean has passed out on his chest. There’s a tiny drop of drool soaking into his shirt above his left pectoral. Dean, pressed up against Castiel’s chest, mushes his face closer. He’s got a strong grip on Castiel’s waist – something he didn’t notice until now. He tries to pull away, but finds it absolutely impossible.

            ‘ _I should be getting back_ …’ He pulls out his phone – it’s nearing midnight. He’s got a shift in the morning, and while his uniform is basically what he’s wearing now, Meg will sure be able to tell that he was wearing the same clothes twice.

            But then Dean snuffles. He pulls himself tighter against Castiel and lets out a soft sigh. Castiel smiles down at him. Then, very carefully, he moves his hand to hover over Dean’s head. Slowly, he brings his fingers to thread themselves through his hair, and starts to pet him. Dean sighs again, humming.

            Something bursts inside Castiel’s chest – something unnamed and dangerous. His head screams at him to stop now, to put an end to this before it goes any further. But his heart pushes him deeper.

            Dean’s forehead is soft against his lips. He pulls back, staring at him. Dean doesn’t stir; he continues to rest against him.

            On the coffee table, Castiel can spot the Polaroid. He reaches over carefully to grab it with his free hand, still playing with Dean’s hair with the other. It’s a stretch, but he manages to grab the strap and pull it over.

            It’s heavy and awkward in his grip. He’s trying to line it up nicely ‘ _This would be such a great picture for us to use_.’ It flashes, and the picture prints out.

            Castiel waits, the moment fading into view with each passing second. Suddenly, it’s there and… it’s not great.

            Well, it’s not his _best_ picture. He’s barely in it, his jaw taking up most of the upper right corner. Dean, however, is front and center. Castiel had captured him with his mouth open and his eyes tight. His skin had gotten a bit paler, so his freckles were really standing out. Castiel was mesmerized by the small dusting across his eyelids.

            ‘ _Maybe… maybe I’ll keep this one for myself_.’ He places the photo inside his shirt, and settles in, playing another movie.

            He joins Dean in slumber halfway through it. 

* * *

             When Castiel opens Dean’s door, he’s not at all surprised to find Dean tangled up in the lights. He had called earlier, complaining about having to decorate without him for the entirety of Castiel’s shift. It had taken so long to placate him, Castiel had to finish the call in his car so Meg wouldn’t harass him, and Crowley wouldn’t bark at him to get back to work. So when he finished, he hopped on the next train to Dean’s apartment building.

            “Thank God you’re here, Cas,” Dean starts, inching towards him, “I… had a few mishaps.”

            “I can tell.”

            “You won’t… say anything about this, will you?”

            Castiel takes his phone out, snapping a picture, “No, Dean, not at all.”

            “Hey!”

            “Is there any way I can help?”

            Dean glares from where he lies on the floor. “No, why don’t have a seat and relax, Angelface, you must’ve had a long day at the office.”

            “…Now that you mention it –“

            “Cas!”

            “I’m joking, calm down,” Castiel smiles, leaning down to help Dean out, “I thought you liked my jokes.”

            “Only when I’m not at the butt of them.”

            “Let me just,” Castiel focuses, his fingers deftly pulling the string apart from their ties and knots. Dean escapes in no time at all. He sits up, rubbing at where the cord was tight, easing out the reddish welts.

            “Thanks, Cas,” Dean smiles, “you’re my hero.”

            “All in a day’s work,” he huffs, standing, “Although I should really be paid overtime.”

            “Your Christmas bonus is inside, next to some milk,” Dean tells him, “Help me up, first.”

            “Whatever you say.”

            Castiel lifts Dean, and they navigate around all the boxes Dean had pulled from the basement storage towards the kitchen. Just as he had said, Dean placed some sugar cookies on a plate for him. He pushes past Dean and dives, shoving three into his mouth.

            “You’re breathtaking, Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes, “Truly.”

            Castiel turns, cheeks stuffed with cookie, spitting out a “Weally?”

            “Yeah, ‘cuz you could easily choke,” Dean grumbles, batting away at stray crumbs that were fired his way, “Chewing, remember? That’s _your_ thing.”

            Castiel swallows, sheepishly smiling at Dean. “Apologies. I… _really_ like your baking.”

            “I’m glad you do,” Dean smiles, squeezing Castiel’s shoulder, “Now come on, help me with the rest of the decorating, will ya?”

            Castiel quickly shoves two more cookies into his mouth and gulps down half a glass of milk before following Dean back into the mess that is his living room. Now with Dean free from his restraints, Castiel can fully take in what Dean has done all day.

            The tree is up, taking a space near the TV. There’s nothing on it since Dean was wrapped in the first coating. There are a healthy spread of pine needles around the apartment, however, getting over everything whether it’s Christmas related or not.

            Castiel reaches into a box and pulls out a tiny ornament of Santa mooning him.

            “Really?”

            “Shut up,” Dean mumbles, snatching it and putting it away, “It was a gift.”

            “From your brother?”

            “From my _ma_ ,” he says, “she thought it was cute.”

            Castiel holds his hands up in surrender. “Just tell me what to do, Dean.”

            “Could you handle the lights then,” he says, handing it to them, “They seem to like you more than me.”

            “Of course.”

            Castiel sets upon his task, snaking the lights over and under the branches to make sure there won’t be an inch of darkness. It’s a careful and detail-oriented task: right in his wheelhouse. He glances over to see what Dean’s doing, watches as he pulls out some pine boughs and ribbons. Castiel finishes by wrapping the end of the lights twice around the top. He calls Dean over before he moves to plug it in.

            “So what’s the reveal – woah!” Dean gasps, shielding himself from the brightness. “You’re… very _thorough_ , aren’t you?”

            Castiel shrugs, “I try to be.”

            “Could you unplug it though?” Dean asks, turning, “Don’t want to get blinded putting up ornaments.”

            “Of course,” Castiel says, doing so, “What are your plans for those?”

            “For… oh!” Dean holds up the boughs, “I hang them over archways and stuff – something I took from how my aunt decorates.”

            “That’ll look nice,” Castiel smiles, imagining it, “What else do you have planned?”

            “Some fake snowmen hanging around… a Santa by the door… some snowflakes to stick to my doors ‘n’ windows…”

            “And this?” Castiel asks, holding up the mistletoe.

            “Oh, that,” Dean grumbles, grabbing it, “I thought I got rid of _this_.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Three years ago, Sammy got _this_ for me as a ‘gift’… and then proceeded to harass me with it, following me around at our aunt’s bar and holding it up whenever I was a foot away from a girl – or sometimes a guy. As a _joke_.”

            Castiel can see the way Dean’s tensing up. He grabs it back from Dean’s hand and with his other gives Dean a comforting squeeze.

            “Hey, he didn’t know,” Castiel whispers, “It doesn’t have to go up.”

            “…You’re right,” Dean sighs, shaking his head. He stares at it in Castiel’s hand forlornly. “You know, I’ve never actually done that before.”

            “What?” Castiel asks, holding it up, “Kiss under mistletoe?”

            “Yeah… have you?”

            “A few times,” Castiel confesses, “Never really cared for the women who forced me under them. But then again, I’ve had worse holiday celebrations…”

            Dean snorts, “No wonder Christmas is such a sore spot for you…”

            “On the contrary,” Castiel smiles, “I really love Christmas. The way its magic seems to capture the city… the good cheer… the way it _celebrates_ spending time with people you love and who love _you_ unconditionally…”

            Castiel snaps out of it when he sees how strangely Dean’s looking at him.

            “What?”

            “I’m sorry,” Dean starts, “But I’m just… really confused. If you love Christmas… why do you work all though it?”

            “People have every right to spend time with their family,” Castiel shrugs, “I try and make it easier for them to be able to – so they don’t feel guilty.”

            “What about this year?” Dean asks, drawing in on himself, “Because of what I’m asking you, does that mean some poor schlep will have to work on Christmas? Are you… _disappointed_ you won’t be working? Or is this just another way you can help someone spend time with _their_ family?”

            “What? No, Dean,” Castiel shakes his head, “That’s… that’s all… I’m _really_ happy I’ll be spending the holidays with _you_ – and with your family.”

            “But what about _your_ family, Cas?” Dean blurts out. He bites at his lip, while Castiel blinks at him.

            “What about _my_ family?”

            “Don’t they want to see you, this year? If you need me to be _your_ boyfriend, I’m ready to help – it’s… it’s the least I can do.”

            Castiel’s mind takes a sharp turn into a forbidden direction. One where his family meets Dean, where they claw at him and try and make him as miserable as everyone in the DiAngelo family is. Where Castiel can do nothing but watch as they try and darken Dean’s light. Castiel doesn’t answer Dean. Instead, he looks down at his hand, and thinks of something else: something that will keep him from spilling the _truth_ to Dean.

            “You know,” Castiel starts, smiling, “Maybe we _should_ hang this up.”

            Dean frowns, “Come again.”

            “Follow me,” Castiel says, grabbing some string from the box. He walks towards the kitchen, tying one end of the string to the mistletoe, “Bring a ladder.”

            He’s standing under the entryway to the kitchen when Dean comes to him with the ladder. “What are you planning?” he asks.

            “Do you have one of those…sticky wall hanger things?”

            “I should. Let me check the drawers.”

            Castiel unfolds the ladder and quickly climbs it, determining the exact center of the entrance. “Could you please uncover the back?”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Dean says, holding the hanger up to him, “Here you go.”

            Castiel takes it and carefully places it onto the wall. Then, he takes the other end of the string and ties it to the hook. He steps down and looks at his work with pride.

            “So,” Dean asks, eyeing the sprig as well, “Now what?”

            “Now?” Castiel says, kicking the ladder away and pulling Dean underneath, “Now, we make some memories.”

            “ _What!”_

            “You said you’ve never been kissed under mistletoe,” Castiel shrugs, “I want to fix that.”

            “Why?”

            ‘ _Why must **you** ask so many questions_?’ “Just consider this me going… ‘above and beyond’.”

            “Huh,” Dean looks at him, eyebrows raised, mouth pulled taut and angry, “Really? Or should I call this ‘avoiding the subject’.”

            “What?”

            Dean pouts, but doesn’t shy away from Castiel. He grabs his wrist and steps closer. “Cas… every time I’ve tried to bring up family – _your_ family… you always try and change the subject.”

            “That’s not –“

            “That’s totally true and we both know it,” Dean interrupts, “You don’t have to spill your guts but… if we’re going into this together, I want to know why.”

            Castiel stares into Dean’s eyes. He hasn’t spoken about his family, out loud to another person, in years. Ever since he stopped going to therapy three years after the Fourth of July Catastrophe of ‘08. Terror claws up his stomach and forces itself into his throat. But something about Dean’s eyes keeps that fear at bay long enough for him to say a few words.

            “My family…” Castiel starts, whispering, licking his lips, “Everyone has their sore spots, Dean Winchester. They just happen to be mine. I… try not to think about them.”

            “Okay,” Dean nods, “So if not for _your_ family, then… _why?_ ”

            “Why what?”

            “Why could you possibly want to spend Christmas with _me_? With my… with my family?”

            For a second, Castiel wants to spill the truth. That he _misses_ being part of a family. That, even for a few short days, he wants to belong to a group of people who are happy and treat each other with love, kindness, and respect. And that maybe, just maybe, Dean is slowly becoming such an important part of Castiel’s life, he wants to spend as much time with him as he can before Dean calls it all off.

            But that second passes, and Castiel is left with this:

            “I have my reasons, Dean,” Castiel says, cupping his face, “That is all.” There's silence, and Castiel desperately tries to read the thoughts spinning in Dean's eyes.

            “I should be more worried,” Dean admits, “I’ve been giving you a lot and you’ve given me nothing at all. But…”

            “But?”

            “But my family is coming tomorrow. And for some _strange_ reason… I trust you.”

            Castiel’s heart soars.

            “So…” Castiel continues, his voice husky and soft, “The mistletoe?”

            Dean glances above him, and then looks back down at Castiel and his lips.

            “I mean,” Dean starts, “We’ll be kissing in front of my family anyway and…”

            “And?”

            “I _really_ don’t want to be a mistletoe virgin any longer.”

            Castiel doesn’t wait for another word. He closes the distance and kisses Dean. It’s slow, but full of energy. They’re just pressing against one another until finally Dean slips a tongue past Castiel’s lips. Dean lets go of his wrists and drapes his arms over Castiel’s shoulders, twisting his hands in his hair. Castiel moves his other hand to join the first on Dean’s cheeks, pressing deeper into the sting of Dean’s stubble.

            Castiel feels the world unravel around him, any lingering trace of his past or his family simply falls away as he’s swept up in the tingle Dean’s skin against his brings. There’s a wildfire spreading up his hands that’s catching everything in their path. Castiel never wants this to end.

            But that’s exactly why he pulls away.

            Castiel puffs warm breaths against Dean’s skin, trying to regain his thoughts. Dean’s green eyes are barely that – the black of his pupils nearly consuming them. “So,” Castiel clears his throat, stepping back, “Do you still consider yourself a… _virgin_?”

            Dean can’t speak. He blushes, and shakes his head.

            “We should… get back to decorating.”

            Dean nods, and follows Castiel back into the living room.

            They don’t speak for the rest of the night. But they don’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya like? Ngl the end of this chapter was so much fun to write. Leave kudos and comments to let me know what you think!


	7. Cuffed to Surprises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Boxing Day! Tried to get this done on Christmas but like... that was difficult. Anyway, Enjoy!

            Castiel eyes the clock every few seconds. When he’s not doing that, he’s checking his phone to make sure that time is, in fact, moving at the right speed and that nothing keeps him from the end of his day. He’s never wished for his shift to be over before, but now he understands why some of his co-workers get cranky just before a break.

            “You look like someone’s holding a gun to your head, Clarence,” Meg says, feet up on her desk, “Got somewhere to be?”

            “As a matter of fact, Meg,” Castiel grumbles, “I do.”

            Meg stares at him. “What?” She swings herself back upright. “You? Have plans?”

            Castiel doesn’t look up from his computer, “If I wasn’t so concerned with what you think of me, I’d be offended with your insinuation that I can’t have plans.”

            “No, you can have plans,” Meg counters, “Doctors’ appointments count in my books.”

            “Is there a reason you’re harassing me?”

            “Can’t two _friends_ share a conversation during work?”

            “Meg, you and I are –“ Castiel starts, only to stall when he sees Chief Crowley making his way across the bull pen, “Excuse me.”

            “Where ya’ going, Clarence!”

            “I need to do something,” he hisses, “And my name’s not Clarence.”

            Castiel doesn’t look back at her, instead following Crowley into his office and closing the door behind him. Crowley turns to Castiel, cocking his brow.

            “DiAngelo,” he greets, lifting his mug, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

            “Nothing Chief, except…”

            “Except…?” Crowley parrots, moving to his chair. He motions for Castiel to do the same across from him, which he does. Castiel folds his hands across his lap and takes a look at the small Newton’s cradle Crowley has on his desk.

            “I wanted to ask about my vacation time?”

            “Your… _vacation time_?”

            “Yes, I put it in a little over a week ago and… why are you laughing?” Castiel tilts his head at the sight of his boss, barely able to breathe, trying not to let his cackles get too loud. After a minute, Castiel starts to get annoyed. He folds his arms across his chest and taps his foot, waiting for Crowley’s mirth to die down.

            “Sorry, sorry, it’s just,” Crowley says, wiping tears from his eyes, “You’ve never requested any time off the entire time you’ve been on the force.”

            “Yes,” Castiel nods, “I… don’t see how that is funny”

            “It’s not,” Crowley continues, “You _asking_ for time off is funny.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Indeed,” Crowley chirps, opening his drawer and puling out Castiel’s paperwork, “Because for once it’s actually _you_ asking for it.”

            “Come again?”

            “I get reports and requests from your fellow officers all the time,” Crowley tells him, “Some asking to use your days since you never use them, some _forging_ your signature in an attempt to say that you agreed to transfer your days to them. My favorite forms are the ones your partner sends me –“

            “Meg?” Castiel asks, “What does she want my vacation days for?”

            “Oh, she doesn’t want them,” Crowley explains, “She sends me requests from ‘you’ that you want to go on all these insane adventures: bungee-jumping off the Grand Canyon… scuba diving in the Mediterranean… my favorite was when she said you had to ask for time off to help prove to a man that he shouldn’t wish he was never born.”

            “So she wanted _me_ to use my vacation days,” Castiel mumbles, leaning back into the chair, “Wonder why?”

            “You can ask her yourself,” Crowley says, “After you tell me why you’re taking your time off.”

            “I believe I explained it well enough in my paperwork.”

            “You really _didn’t_ , mate,” Crowley says, raising an eyebrow, “All you wrote is that you needed time off for, and I’m reading this word for word, ‘Personal Business’.”

            “Exactly,” Castiel nods, “Personal Business.”

            Crowley shoots Castiel a withering look, and sighs. “I’d be more forceful and call rank,” he starts, “but seeing as you have enough vacation days saved up to warrant an intervention from the Union if I try anything, I’m just going to sign off on your request. Enjoy the holidays, Detective, we’ll see you after the New Year.”

            Castiel stands, smiling, “I wish the same to you.”

            “I won’t,” Crowley frowns, taking a sip from his coffee, “My son’s stuck at college and my mother unfortunately caught her flight in from Los Angeles. Even after I called the airline and had them… _move_ _up_ the departure.”

            “How did you… never mind,” Castiel starts to leave, “Goodbye.”

            Crowley lifts his mug in salute as Castiel closes the door on him. He takes a deep breath, glad to have gotten out of hearing another rant about the Chief’s mother. He’s sat through enough, in his opinion. And while he understands where he’s coming from, having met Rowena; he’s not in the mood to waste the remainder of his day listening to his boss.

            “Finally taking time off, huh?”

            “Jesus!” Castiel jumps, rounding to his side where Meg is waiting. She’s leaning casually up against Crowley’s office glass, smirking at him.

            “Really,” she says, “After all our time together and you still don’t recognize me?”

            “ _Meg_ ,” Castiel grumbles, “What are you doing?”

            “Snooping, duh,” she tells him, “I’m a detective.”

            “Really?” Castiel challenges, “I didn’t know we were at the scene of a crime?”

            “Well, we are, Clarence.”

            “What warranted the investigation?”

            “Your _suspicious_ behavior,” she frowns, “Taking calls… going out… taking time _off_ –“

            “All that suspicious behavior is called having a life.”

            “Yeah, well from what I’ve seen over the years – you _don’t_ ,” she shrugs, “so any signs of it from you vaguely concern me.”

            “I’m glad you find me taking time off _concerning_ ,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes and walking back to their desks. Meg is right behind him. “I thought you’d be happy,” he continues, sitting, “That I’m finally taking my time off. Although it isn’t as _exciting_ as you might imagine.”

            “Crowley tell you about all that?” Meg winces. Castiel shoots her a withering look and she shrugs in response.

            “Whatever, at least I wasn’t trying to _take_ them like everyone else here,” she says, “And some of my suggestions aren’t half bad, so if you get bored doing whatever –“

            “I assure you I will be very much preoccupied,” Castiel says, “Christmas _is_ right around the corner.”

            “Ah, so it’s family?” Meg guesses, poking at his leg with her boot from under their conjoined desks.

            “Is your job really _that_ boring?” Castiel asks, slightly blushing, “I’m pretty sure there’s got to be a homicide or a mugging case you could be working on right now.”

            “What?” Meg smiles, continually playing with Castiel’s leg under the table, “Can’t I be interested in what my _partner_ will be doing over the holidays? It’ll probably be better than what I’m doing.”

            “Which is?”

            “Getting totally hammered _and_ laid between shifts,” Meg replies. She pauses, thinking. “Actually, my plans sound pretty _rockin_ ’.”

            “Then I won’t bore you with mine,” Castiel turns back to his computer, “I just thought it might be fun to… stay at home.”

            The silence is not what he expected. It’s not unwelcome, but a silent Meg is a _dangerous_ Meg. He looks back up to see her squinting at him, as if he was a specimen under a high-powered microscope.

            “What?” he asks, cracking under her pressure.

            “You’re hiding something,” she says, leaning forward, “And you don’t want to tell me.”

            “I can’t believe you cracked the case,” he replies, deadpan, “No wonder you became a detective.”

            “I’m gonna find out what though,” she grins, “I can _smell_ the secret on you like that cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume. It’s clogging my senses and I won’t be able to think straight until I drench you in the _truth_.”

            “Well when you put it like that…”

            “Mark my words, Clarence,” she says, leaning back out, “I’ll figure it out before the New Year.”

            “Why do you _want_ to?”

            Meg shrugs, “I don’t like it when my _friends_ keep secrets from me.”

            “We’re not –” Castiel tries once more, grumbling, “Never mind. Just… keep the theatrics down until I leave.”

            “Consider it my gift.”

            Sure enough, she keeps her word. 

* * *

            Dean paces the length of his living room, checking his phone every few seconds. After the fifth time in the same minute, he scans the room for anything he can use to occupy his time. The floors are spotless, and every book on his shelf is organized from most awesome to least. His furniture is dusted, he brought up the extra chairs from his storage, and he’s sure he’s finally perfected the casual spread of magazines on his coffee table. He checks the kitchen – takes stock of his fridge, that the oven is on and keeping his pie warm, and that the sink is empty.

            ‘ _Everything seems to be fine_ ,’ he thinks, batting away the mistletoe, ‘ _Maybe I should –‘_

            Some very impatient knocking from the other side of his door interrupts his thoughts. He rushes towards it, smiling. He opens it; “Cas, I thought I gave you a – Charlie?”

            Charlie deflates, her elf hat letting out a sad jingle. “Seriously?” she asks, stepping in, “I’ve known you for three years and you’ve never looked that happy to see me.”

            “I’m sorry,” Dean says, blushing, scratching at the back of his neck, “I thought you were –“

            “Your ‘ _loverboy_ ’ I know,” she says, rolling her eyes, “Why do you think I’m here?”

            “To… support me?”

            “No,” she scoffs, holding up the bag of popcorn she brought with her, “To enjoy the show.” She plops down on the couch, “By the way, what did you give your feaux-ancé?”

            “I – uh… gave him the… key to my apartment?” Dean winces, turning away from Charlie.

            “Dude!” she yells, hitting him with one of his own pillows, “What were you thinking?”

            “I was _thinking_ ,” he grumbles, picking up his pillow and fixing it back onto his sofa, “That he’d have to have the key to my place by now since we’ve been dating for so long –“

            “ _Two weeks?”_

“ _Seven months_.”

            “Dean,” Charlie starts, “I barely tell women that I’ve been dating for a _year_ what I do for a living.”

            “That’s because when you tell people what you do they immediately become authors,” Dean snorts, “And I trust Cas. Besides, I have a key to _his_ apartment – which is like, _super_ cool. Definitely out of my budget.”

            “Dean, if you didn’t get this place under rent control before Astoria blew up, _your_  apartment would be out of your budget,” Charlie fires back, shoving a handful into her mouth.

            “Whatever,” he laughs, shaking her leg, “Just don’t make _too_ much of a mess.”

            “I won’t, I know how neurotic you can be when you’re nervous.”

            “I’m not nerv –“

            “Don’t even try to lie to me, Dean Winchester,” she frowns, pointing at him, “I’m the only one who _really_ knows what’s going on this holiday season.”

            Dean deflates, falling back into the couch and slumping into Charlie’s side. She rolls her eyes, but swings her arm over his shoulders and rubs him affectionately.

            “I just… I really want this to go well,” Dean admits, “And Cas said he’d be here at three – but it’s already a quarter past four and I’ve heard nothing! My family will be here in an hour!”

            “Relax, Dean, it’s New York City,” Charlie says, “He probably just got stuck in a subway tunnel – you know it’s impossible to get service when you’re in them.”

            Dean sniffles, “That’s true.”

            “Besides, you have more than enough time before your family get here,” Charlie laughs, punching him in the shoulder, “It’s not like you’ll have to face them without Cas… or your awesome best friend.”

            Dean is about to agree when suddenly his buzzer goes off. He shoots Charlie a puzzled look before he heads over to the phone by his door. “Hello?” he answers.

            There’s a cough, and a weird sounding voice on the other side, “Delivery for Dean Winchester?”

            “Delivery?” Dean parrots, looking at Charlie who just shrugs, “I don’t remembering ordering something –“

            “Listen buddy, it’s almost Christmas – I’ve got tons of other deliveries so could you let me in. It needs your signature.”

            “Sure, whatever,” Dean sighs, hitting the button to let the delivery person in, “Ask the front desk for my apartment number.” He hangs up, rolling his eyes.

            “Delivery?”

            “As if I needed any _more_ stress,” he grouses, “That guy was such a jerk. Sorry that Amazon has made your job really difficult, but don’t take it out on me.”

            “Shush, Dean,” Charlie fake gasps, pointing to her ears, “They might be listening.”

            “This isn’t 1984 yet, Charlie, Amazon ain’t that powerful–“

            _Knock Knock Knock_

            “That was… quick?”

            “Watch out Dean,” Charlie giggles, “it might be Amazon coming to take you out!”

            Dean laughs, walking over to his door, “Well if they are, my last words are that Jeff Bezos can suck my – Ma?”

            On the other side of the open door, his mother, along with the rest of his family, stand smiling and shouting surprise. Dean doesn’t know what to do; he’s frozen in shock.

            He comes to with Mary shaking him, saying, “Dean, Dean? Are you okay?”

            “What are,” he swallows, grimacing, “What are you all doing here so – so… _early_?”

            “Well,” Sam starts to explain, walking in, “Somehow all flights to New York were pushed _up_. Luckily, Jess and I got to the airport early and caught the change. We called everyone else and let them know what was going on.”

            “Wait, _all_ the New York flights got pushed up?” Dean asks, following Sam in while everyone else enters his apartment as well, with Bobby shutting and locking the door, “How the hell does that happen?”

            “Who knows,” Jess tells him, joining Charlie on the sofa, “We didn’t mind, but this one woman – my _God._ She was the worst person I’ve ever had to fly a plane with. Screeching with this thick, heavy Scottish accent, harassing the poor flight attendants because they wouldn’t bump her up to first class – and worst of all her red hair got _everywhere_!”

            “Real witch of a woman,” Sam nods in agreement, sitting next to Jess on the arm.

            “Anyway,” Mary cuts in, “When we got here, we decided to check into our hotels early and surprise you! So… are you surprised?”

            “ _Definitely_ ,” Dean fakes a smile; “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another hour…”

            “We didn’t want to keep you waiting,” John tells him, clapping him on the shoulder, “ _Especially_ after Sam told us you had something important you wanted to show us.”

            Dean rounds on Sam, eyes squinting in fury. Sam responds with a shit-eating grin, leaning back and into Jess, curling his arm around her for protection.

            “He _did_?” he says, “Well… why should I start? I feel like you’ve all been doing so much – I’d like to hear what’s new with you.” He turns to Jo, eyeing the man who’s glued to her side as a nice distraction. “Jo,” he starts, “Who’s this?”

            “Dean,” she smiles, turning to her _friend_ , “This is Mick Davies. I met him when I went to England.”

            Mick reaches out his hand, and Dean meets him halfway. He has a firm grip for someone dressed in so much tweed.

            “Pleasure to meet you, Dean,” Mick smiles, “Jo’s told me quite a bit about you.”

            “I hope she left in the parts where I’ll maim anyone who breaks her heart?”

            “Dean!” Jo growls at him, clutching on tight to Mick’s arm. He stares at Dean in shock and mild fear. Dean smirks.

            “Don’t mind that boy,” Ellen slaps Dean on the side of his head, “He’s all bark and no bite. Just being a big ol’ brother.”

            “More like a big _bother_ ,” Jo scoffs. Dean sticks his tongue out at her, and she returns the gesture.

            “Ah, right,” Mick smiles, chuckling, “I remember when Sam did the same thing over Thanksgiving.” He turns to him, “I will say your height was much more intimidating.”

            “It’s why I have such a high win rate for my cases,” Sam smiles, winking.

            “Where’d you find this ol’ _bloke_ anyway?” Dean asks.

            “Funny story, actually,” Jo starts, twining Mick’s fingers with hers, “A couple of my friends and I had gotten a bit lost in London, and so we stopped in this pub. They were having a competition that night – whoever could last the longest drinking shots would win the prize of not having to pay their tab. None of my other friends had wanted to play, but I signed up –“

            “At the same moment I did,” Mick cuts in, smiling at her, “We bantered quite a bit back and forth. It only increased the more we drank. One by one the remaining competitors fell away until it was just she and I. It was getting tight – I still have a fuzzy, vague memory of how it all happened. She had just taken her shot and flipped the glass over, raising her brow at me in a challenge. I lifted the glass to my lips, but completely collapsed. When I came to, she was hovering over me, making sure I was alright –“

            “I didn’t want to kill a man I just wanted to win!”

            “And all I could think was that she beat me… and that she was really pretty,” Mick smiles, laughing, “No one’s ever bested me in a drinking match. Jo winning was a sign that she was very special and, well – I have yet to be proven wrong.”

            She blushes, “Shut up.” She kisses him on the cheek, giggling. The sight makes Dean’s heart swell, seeing her so happy. But then he feels his Ma’s curious eyes on him, and that warm and fuzzy feeling quickly gets buried under harsh, cold anxiety.        

            “Really, it’s sweet,” Mary starts, “When Jo told us that story at Thanksgiving, it reminded me of when I met John for the first time.” She turns to her husband, “Isn’t that right, dear?”

            “Please, Mary,” John says, laughing, “I think they’ve heard that story _too_ many times now.”

            “It’s just such _fond_ memories,” she sighs, “Reminded me how thankful I am to have you in my life.” Dean sees she’s chosen to pack the subtlety of a hammer before she left Lawrence. “So, Dean,” she turns, “Have you been doing anything lately? I know you’ve been busy with your book and all but I’m sure you must have had a little _fun_ in between?”

            “I don’t know if I can say that,” Dean blushes, looking away, “Charlie here was a real _stickler_ when it came to me adhering to my deadline.”

            “But Charlie must know that you need a few nights to yourself,” she turns to the redhead, “Isn’t that right?”

            Charlie swallows hard, nearly choking on a stray kernel. “Of course, Mary,” she smiles, facing Dean, “I couldn’t keep him locked away in his tower _forever_. I treated him to dinner a few times… to show how much I _care_.”

            Dean rolls his eyes, Charlie’s performance truly tugging at his heartstrings.

            “And what did you do when Dean finished his book?”

            “Like I could find the time,” she scoffs, “Besides he was busy with –“ She smacks her lips tight together, eyes wide. She turns to Dean, wincing. Everyone’s eyes are on her.

            “Busy?” Mary bounces, eyes aglow, turning to Dean, “Busy with _who_?”

            ‘ _Nice chose of words, ma.’_ “Oh, you know… stuff.”

            “Dean –“

            _Ding!_

            ‘ _Oh thank you all that is flaky and delicious,_ ’ “That’s the pie!” Dean yelps, scurrying away, “I thought it would cool down before you – but I guess – I need to get it out before it burns!”

            He leaves Charlie to his mother, trusting her to not say anymore while he recovers from the accidental wound. He didn’t want to make any mention of Cas without him here. Without him, any explanation from Dean’s part would just jumble out of his mouth in a mess, leaving everyone confused and him, more likely, embarrassed.

            Dean pulls out the pie, focusing on it for now. It smells heavenly, and its crust is a perfect gold that would make even Mary Berry herself weep.

            “Really got yourself out of that one Dean.”

            He turns, finding Sam leaning against the entryway to Dean’s kitchen, smirking, “And only leaving us _vaguely_ concerned and suspicious – just _how_ do you do it?”

            “Shove it,” Dean pouts, “I already have half a mind to whoop your _ass_ for telling them I had something I wanted to show them.”

            “Well you do, don’t you?” Sam asks, “Or were you just being cryptic on the phone to mess with me? Because it only backfired –“

            “No, no I do, it’s just,” Dean sighs, putting the pie and potholder on the counter and scrubbing a hand down his face, “I can’t really do it now.”

            “Dean, you’re being really weird,” Sam frowns, walking further into the kitchen, “Whatever it is you can just _say_ it. Unless… it’s not like, _cancer_ is it –“

            “No!” Dean says, “Jesus, Sammy – like I would even tell you that on _Christmas_! I’m perfectly healthy, anyway.”

            “Then what is it?” Sam continues, “You might as well just say it because mom’s not going to stop until she finds out and as trustworthy as Charlie is she’s not going to last out there all on her own.”

            “I know,” Dean says, “Look just – go make sure ma doesn’t scar Charlie anymore than she already is – and watch out for the mistletoe!”

            Sam finally notices the hanging sprig. He walks towards it and cups it gently in his hands. He looks at it, then Dean, strangely.

            “Is this the same mistletoe from –“

            “Yeah, yeah.”

            “I thought you _hated_ it,” Sam frowns, “You gave me a pretty sick Indian burn at the end of that night.”

            Dean turns away, blushing, “ _Someone_ convinced me it might be nice.” Dean can tell Sam is still watching him. Soon enough, however, he walks away, leaving Dean alone in the kitchen.

            Dean braces himself against the counter, releasing a ragged breath. There’s still chatter coming from the living room, and Dean can just make out the questions Mary interrogates Charlie with, and the attempt Sam is making to stop her. He knows he has to get out there and face his firing squad… but the kitchen is so comforting and _silent._

            Dean checks his phone once more, and nearly drops it when he sees the light of a notification. It’s from Cas.

            _Angelface -_

                        _Sorry I’m running late. Will be there shortly, dork._

            Dean smiles, and starts texting Cas, about to warn him that he’ll meet him outside his building instead. He doesn’t get to send the message.

            The door unlocks and opens –

            “Dean, I’m so – _oh_.”

            Dean jerks his head out from the kitchen, gawking at Cas along with the rest of his family. Cas is standing under the doorway, his blue tie pulled loose and the top collar unbuttoned. He’s panting slightly, somehow sweating in this cold weather.

            Bobby is the first to come to, “Well, are ya’ gonna come in?”

            Cas blinks at him, and nods. He closes the door behind him and stands against it, flexing and un-flexing his fingers. Dean shakes out of his own stupor as well and moves towards him.

            “I just got your message,” Dean says, going in for a hug, only to stop halfway. Instead, he claps Cas on the shoulder and gives him a short nod.

            “Ah,” Cas says, eyeing the room, “I see I am a bit… _too_ late.”

            Dean winces, mouthing a quick ‘sorry’ to Cas. He nods slightly, giving him a half-smile.

            “Dean?” Mary asks, leaning forward on Dean’s armchair, “Are you going to _introduce_ us to your… friend?”

            “Right, right,” Dean turns back around, scratching at his neck, “Everyone… this is Cas.” He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, “He’s… well – Cas is… he’s… _Cas_ ” They’re all watching Dean expectedly, and Dean breaks under the pressure of the spotlight.

            Dean feels Cas slip his hand into his and squeeze. “I’m Dean’s _boyfriend_.”

            _Chirp. Chirp. Chirp._

            They all turn to Charlie, who’s scrambling for her phone, “Sorry, so sorry – I thought I turned my phone on vibrate – just… don’t mind me!”

            “Your… boyfriend?” John asks, looking Cas over.

            Dean stands rigid, his fight-and-flight responses going into overdrive, unsure what the situation is. He can’t read anyone’s expressions except Mick’s – which don’t make him feel any better since he’s just met him. But the rest of his family… there is pulled brows, chewed lips, and quirked lips.

            “Yeah,” Dean mumbles, grimacing, “… _Surprise_?”

            He’s not sure if the cricket is coming from Charlie’s phone again or if it’s in his mind.

            “I think I can speak for… probably everybody here, but…” Sam starts, motioning between the two, “We’re all a little confused.”

            “I’m not,” Bobby shrugs. They all stare at him, now.

            “What?” Mary asks.

            “You mean you didn’t know your boy liked boys?” Bobby snorts, smirking.

            “How did –” Dean says, “How did you?”

            “When you were little you always fought with Jo over who got to be Leia because _you_ wanted to be with Han.”

            ‘ _Damn Harrison Ford.’_ “Hey, Leia was the best of the trio regardless of who she ended up with,” Dean tries to defend, blushing.

            “Wasn’t your reasoning at the time…”

            “But,” Jo pipes up now, “Dean, I’ve seen you go on dates in high school… with girls?”

            “I mean,” Dean starts, glancing down, “I still like girls but… Bobby’s not wrong. I also like boys, too. S’guess I just… like both, y’know?”

            “So this isn’t just like… a phase?” John asks, turning to Cas, “No offense.”

            “I would normally take offense but given you’re all processing, I’ll let it slide.”

            “You’re very straightforward,” Sam blurts out, Jess swatting him in the stomach. “Hey!”

            “Poor choice of words, Sam.”

            “…Right.”

            “No,” Dean tells them, “I’ve been this way since birth, _apparently_. I just… didn’t realize it until later down the road and, well – when I did I just… it never came up?”

            “Until you,” Mary points to Cas, “got a boyfriend.”

            “Well it’s pretty hard to hide it when that happens,” Dean chuckles. No one joins him.

            “So… Cas is it?” Mary turns to him, “How did you and Dean meet?”

            “Near school –“

            “You’re a _student_ –“?

            “No, not like that!” Dean shuts that down, “He lives near NYU,” he leans toward Cas, grumbling, “You couldn’t have phrased that better?”

            “I didn’t have a chance to explain.”

            “So what _do_ you do, Cas?” John asks.

            “I’m a detective with the NYPD,” he tells him – Dean notes the impressed nod from his father.

            “Never mind that,” Mary hushes John, “Cas, please continue with what you were saying.”

            “Well, as I was saying, we met near school,” Cas continues, “He didn’t seem to notice where he was going –“

            “I was getting ready for my work trip,” Dean cuts in, “I was still trying to get out of going on a plane.”

            “Anyway, I had just gotten out of work, when I saw him start to jaywalk. Since it’s New York I was just going to look the other way until I saw the cab that was turning the corner –“

            “He pulled me out of the way just in time,” Dean laughs, “Cab kept on going. I was so thankful, I wanted to repay him somehow.”

            “I don’t think _that_ is a fair trade for saving a life,” Sam butts in.

            “Out of the gutter, Sammy,” Dean frowns, “I bought him a _coffee_. We started talkin’, and well… one thing led to another. I was leaving soon, but we kept texting and when I got back to the city we just kept going out and all that.”

            “That sounds… really sweet, Dean,” Mary says, grimacing.

            Dean’s face falls slightly, and his heart picks up in pace. He sees Mary’s face fall too, and she starts towards them.

            “Oh, no, sweetie,” she says, “I don’t – I don’t mean it like that. I’m sorry we’ve been – we’re still just adjusting, I mean – we don’t mind, do we?”

            They all pick up on what Mary says, and follow suit voicing their own comforting words. Dean feels the pressure that was stomping on his chest lessen slightly, and the panic he was working himself into falls apart.

            “Thanks, really,” he pulls Mary into a hug, smiling, “I know it might seem like a shock –“

            “It is,” Mary pulls away, “But we don’t love you any less.”

            “Ma…”

            “ _Really,_  although... you should have told us sooner,” Mary frowns, “I could have been setting you up with Mrs. Bass’s boy… or that Cole Trenton who runs the lumber yard in town –“

            “ _Mary_ ,” John stops her, eyeing Cas.

            “Right, right,” she smiles at Cas, “it looks like I don’t need to… isn’t this sweet.” She turns to the family, “Everyone together and _together_ this Christmas.”

            Dean eyes Charlie frown, mumbling to herself, “Not everyone…”

            “This is even more reason to celebrate!” Mary beams, grabbing Cas’s hand and pulling him back towards her seat, “Now Cas, I need to know _everything_.”

            “This feels familiar,” Mick sighs, leaning into Jo. She pats his arm affectionately.

            “Be happy it’s not you,” she giggles, “that was last holiday.”

            “Dean?” Ellen asks him, patting her stomach “D’you mind getting that pie now? The plane food wasn’t that good, and your mother wouldn’t let us stop for anything to eat between here and the hotel.”

            “Sure, sure,” Dean says, shaking his head. He walks back towards the kitchen, “I hope y'all are ready for apple pie!”

            “Dean?”

            He slows, looking at Cas. He’s pouting, “Did you not make cookies?”

            “What Cas,” Sam laughs, “you not a fan of pie?”

            “Not really... no.”

            The crowd falls silent once more. Dean’s brain shorts out, and he just stares at Cas, his eyes wide and his mouth pressed tight into a thin line. The rest of his family isn’t any better, while Charlie is trying to suppress her giggles. Out of everything they've tried together and talk about, pie never came up - a surprise to Dean. ' _I can't believe he doesn't like pie...'_

            “Did I… say something I shouldn’t of?”

            “No, Cas,” Dean squeaks out. He clears his throat, “I mean, I totally forgot what with… _everything_. I can put some on for you?”

            “You really don’t –“

            “Nonsense,” Dean smiles, winking, “I know how much you like my cookies.” He spins on his heel and makes it back to the kitchen.  __' _I don't know what's worse, him not liking pie or the fact that I don't **mind**..._ '

            He still manages to hear them while he’s getting everything set up, blushing the whole way through.

            “Wow... he must _really_ like you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a ride! Let's see how it all goes down next chapter! Let me know what you think: drop some kudos and comments!


	8. Cuffed to Tourism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such the long break - holidays coupled with trying to think of how to fill some of these next chapters meant I had a lot of time on my hands. But I really like how this chapter turned out, hope y'all do to!

            Dean waits inside a Starbucks, tapping along to Bublé’s crooning at the small table he found. It was dirty, covered in spills and opened straw wrappers, but most importantly – it was empty. His drink cools ever so slowly while Cas is rooted in front of the sugar, pouring packet after packet into his coffee.

            He can feel himself slipping back into unconsciousness. Ma had wanted them all to get an early start – even if they didn’t end up leaving Dean’s until eleven. Cas had it worse – he didn’t go ‘til half-past midnight. And having coffee so early in the morning only works when you _drink_ it. But since he’s a gentleman… Dean decided to wait for Cas to return with his.

            Even if Dean regrets this decision as every agonizing de-caffeinated second passes.

            He’s startled by the scrape of the chair across from him: Cas taking a seat, sipping from his cup. Dean blinks at him, mouth set in a half-annoyed smirk.

            Cas looks up, “…What?”

            “You sure you put enough in there?” Dean asks, picking up his own drink, “I’m sure you can still taste the coffee you ordered.”

            “Funny,” Cas deadpans, “At least _mine_ has flavor.”

            “And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Cas says, finger set against his chin, “maybe it has something to do with _your_ basic ass order.”

            “Black coffee is not _basic_ ,” he defends, sloshing the liquid around, “It’s _pure_.”

            “Pure _shit_ , maybe…”

            Dean glares. “You take that back or I’m _disinviting_ you from the outing today.”

            “You can’t do that,” Cas smirks, “Firstly, your mother extended the invite, not you.” ‘ _Well fuck_.’ “And secondly… I’m pretty sure if I don’t come your mother is going to be pretty upset.” ‘ _Double fuck_.’

            “Well, who can blame her,” Dean tries to recover, “She’s smitten with ya.” ‘ _Seems to run in the family._ ’

            When Dean had returned with the pie - after a quick effort whipping up some cookies and sticking them in the still warm oven - his family was in lighter spirits. Cas was chuckling through a story, everyone watching him with intent. Dean catches tidbits of it as he’s serving, hearing Cas weave their sappy, saccharine romance together into an enjoyable tapestry.

            “I’m sure Dean has the pictures somewhere,” Cas had said, “It was such a good moment…”

            “They’re in my room with the others.”

            “And after,” Cas giggled, locking eyes with Dean, “he had slipped on a shell.”

            Dean returns to the present, raising a brow at Cas laughing lowly to himself.

            “What?”

            “Nothing,” he says, standing, “We should start making our way over. Who knows how long we’ll have the city to ourselves before the tourists descend?”

            Dean glances around the packed coffeehouse, getting up as well. “If you hadn’t noticed, Cas,” he says, “we’re already too late. The city belongs to out-of-towners.”

            Cas shrugs, “Shame.” He takes another sip and grabs for Dean’s hand. He lets Cas pull him out, twining his fingers with Cas’s easily.

            Touch has been easy with Cas from the beginning, Dean thinks, which is something he’s glad for. When Dean finally sat to enjoy his pie – when Cas had his cookies – he didn’t second-guess taking up Cas’s space. He had almost sat on the other man’s lap until a stray glance from Sam forced him to sink towards the floor. Instead, he leaned heavily against Cas’s legs, letting the other man use his head as a tray for his plate of cookies. He thinks he remembers seeing a flash of a camera, but he doesn’t know who was the culprit.

            “Where did your mother say we were to meet her?” Cas asks, again bringing Dean back from his reverie. He looks around the large space of Times Square, unaware of how they had gotten there.

            Cas must have led them, through crowded sidewalks and congested rush-hour traffic. Not being aware of your surroundings during holiday season in New York City is a scary thing – but like most things with Cas, they became easier. Not even the chatter of time-conscious pedestrians was able to pop this bubble they shared. Now they’re holed up near the police station, and Cas is looking at him with an amused smirk and ruddy cheeks – due to the wind, of course. Not because he was staring at Dean for however long they were standing, which is… continuing the more he doesn’t answer.

            “She said ‘Times Square’,” Dean mumbles, pulling Cas’s scarf up and out of his jacket and tighter around his face, “She didn’t really specify which _part_.”

            “We’ll never find them in this crowd,” Cas says, head swerving back and forth, squinting, “Even with your giant of a brother.”

            “Yeah, the one time his height would be an _advantage_ ,” Dean frowns, pulling out his phone. He’s already got Sam’s number pulled up when he gets the text.

            _Sam-squatch –_

                        _We see you!_

            Then a clear picture of Dean and Cas pops up and – ‘ _Jesus how close are we?’_ Dean was caught fixing Cas’s scarf and with the way Cas’s eyes were drawn to Dean’s lips you would think Dean was pulling him in for a –

            ‘ _Not now, little Dean,’_ he thinks, glaring to his left where a dopey grin and giant arm is waving over at him. Dean looks back at his phone and texts out a quick text and a few angry emoticons. Soon enough, Sam’s grin is replaced with a mega-watt bitch-face he’s grown more used to.

            Sam walks towards them, the crowd parting in his wake like the Red Sea, until he’s standing in front of them.

            “Could you be less of a jerk?” Sam asks, holding his phone up for the both of them.

            _Sheriff Dean –_

 _You look like a dumb tourist, put your hand down_ _> :( >:( >:(_

            “I was being _honest_ ,” Dean responds, pushing Sam’s phone away, “It’s bad enough we had to meet _here_ of all places –“

            “It was Ma’s idea –“

            “Speaking of,” Dean says, scanning the crowd, “Where’s the rest of them.”

            “ _I_ was tasked with crowd patrol, for obvious reasons,” Sam tells them, turning back to the crowd, “everyone else is by those red bleacher thingies.”

            As they followed Sam, Cas leans in close to Dean, whispering, “Why _did_ your mother choose Times Square to meet?”

            “Because they don’t get to come into the city often,” Dean shrugs, “And when you were in the bathroom I vetoed Rockefeller Center.”

            “We _never_ would have found them.”

            “That’s what I said –“

            “If you two _pardners_ are done,” Sam glances back, laying on a thick Western accent, “we’ve arrived.”

            “Thanks Sam-agawea,” Dean scoffs, shoving past Sam and towards everyone else, Cas not far behind.

            “Dean!” Mary crows, throwing herself into his waiting arms, “Oh it’s been too long!”

            “Ma it’s barely been twelve hours.”

            “That’s still too long for me,” she says, laughing. She pulls away and moves towards Cas, hugging him and only causing the tips of his ears to burn a bright scarlet. Everyone else’s greetings are, thankfully, less enthusiastic then Mary’s, and they are moving away from the bleachers and into the city.

            “So,” Dean asks, “Where do you want to go first?”

            “Your _mother_ ,” John starts, eyeing Mary with an exasperated smile, “wants to go see the tree.”

            “The… tree – Ma!” Dean groans, leaning into Cas’s shoulder, “Rockefeller Center?”

            “It won’t be that bad, Dean,” Mary smacks him lightly, laughing, “We won’t take _forever_.” She slips her hand into John’s and takes lead of the pack, moving the group forward towards her destination. Cas follows suit, taking Dean’s hand in his once again.

            “It’s going to be a long day isn’t it?”

            Dean watches his family. Mary is in high spirits, pointing out every decoration and describing them to John, who nods along to every observation she makes. Sam is still intimidating even the fiercest New Yorker into giving him a wide berth, which is good for Jess who is curled under his arm, but bad for Mick and Jo who end up trying to fight their way through the resurgent tide following Sam. Bobby and Ellen keep to themselves, occasionally whispering to themselves and chuckling.

            “Yeah,” Dean finally says, turning back to Cas, “But that would’ve been the case even if there _weren’t_ tourists.”

            Dean feels Cas huff a breath through his nose, tickling his head and sending a warm shiver down his spine. 

* * *

             To everyone’s surprise except the New Yorkers, getting pictures with the tree does take _forever_. Not only do they get stuck behind tons of foot traffic, but also taking photos with Dean’s family is the _worse_.

            “Now come on, Dean,” Mary says holding her phone up, “How many times do I get a picture of you and Sam together?”

            “I don’t know, when’s the last time you saw us in the same room?”

            “Please, Dean,” Mary pouts, summoning forward the same expression Sam had inherited from her, “For me?”

            Dean rolls his eyes and sighs, “Alright.” He takes Jess’s place beside Sam, the newest combination to have their photo taken. Dean tries to lean his elbow on Sam’s shoulder, but Sam beats him to it. He huffs as Sam’s bony arm digs into his skin, but forces a smile as Mary starts to count down.

            “Alright, now Jess, Cas, you two get in there!”

            Dean can see the hesitation on Cas’s face. He’s glancing between Dean and his mother, and he’s frowning.

            “C’mon,” Dean holds his hand out, “The faster we get this over with the sooner we can get out of here.” Cas huffs something under his breath, but Dean can see the tiny smile blossom onto his face the closer he gets.

            After the four of them, John and Mary join them, then Jo and Mick, and soon enough they’re crowding around each other trying to fit into one picture as Mary untangles a long stick.

            Dean feels the heat rising up his neck, and he looks down at his boots, whining, “Ma…”

            “Just hush up and smile, Dean Winchester,” Mary orders, “1… 2…”

            The camera flashes, and Dean is quick to untangle himself from the mess of bodies, pulling Cas alongside him. “All right,” he forces a laugh, glancing throughout the crowd, making sure no one was staring at them, “I think we have enough pictures.”

            “Oh but we need just one more –“

            “Mary,” John sighs, placing a hand on her arm, “Read the room.”

            She takes a look at her family’s faces, and sheepishly lowers her phone. “Yeah,” she agrees, “I don’t want to take up _too_ much space.”

            “Besides,” Ellen says, linking arms with Mary on her other side, “We have more to do than taking pictures. I thought I saw this leather jacket in a store window that was just calling my name.”

            “I hope it wasn’t calling _collect_ ,” Bobby grumbles to the amusement of the group.

            John claps him on the back, “Aw lighten up, Bobby, it’s a vacation. Besides, I wanted to take a look at some boots I thought would be good the next time we go hiking.”

            “You hike?” Cas asks.

            “ _He_ hikes,” Bobby jerks his thumb at John, “I appreciate nature from the back of my truck – like a _normal person_.”

            “Ignore him,” John says, “He’s just a cranky ol’ coot because I made him go on a rock climbing _road trip_ with me this summer.”

            Dean laughs, “You finally convinced Bobby to join you?”

            “No,” Bobby defends himself, “More like your father bamboozled me at the ass-crack of dawn in July and loaded me into his crummy hippie van before I could get my wits together.”

            “Don’t insult my van,” John says, glaring, “She’s a beauty.” She had to be, for John to give up Baby to Dean. When John and Mary had bought it, he had joked with her, saying that this was the sort of car he was going to get for them early on in their relationship, to help them raise their family. That was before some stranger had popped up and convinced him to get the ’67 Impala in black instead of the VW that smelled like patchouli. Mary had laughed alongside him, saying that maybe the stranger knew something they didn’t.

            “Whaddya mean?” he asked, “Did _he_ know how much Dean was gonna love the Impala?”

            “No,” she said, leaning into his side, “He must have known that if you showed up in a car like _that_ I would have tossed you to the curb faster than you could say Jerry Garcia.”

            “Don’t speak ill of the Dead, Mary.”

            “Just… hand the dealer your money and we’ll get you your van, ya’ hippie.”

            “It was really funny,” Sam says, joining in, “I met them at the Echo Cliffs one weekend and while Dad and I made it to the top in no time, Bobby was still fighting with the harness.”

            “I told y’all I was uncomfortable,” Bobby says, burning a bright red, “An’ the rope diggin’ into my ass wasn’t helping!”

            “Now what’s goin’ on here,” Ellen butts in, sidling up to Bobby, “why’s my husband redder than the plate at an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet?”

            “We were talking _about_ your husband,” Dean laughs, “the outdoorsman.”

            “ _My_ husband?” she asks, “That don’t sound like my husband…”

            “Ellen!”

            “Stop teasing Bobby, guys,” Mary says now, drawing all eyes to her, “we’ll have plenty of time for that. For now, let’s look around a little, and then go see if we can get a few minutes on the ice –“

            “The ice?” Dean asks, “Here?”

            “Yes, Dean,” Mary says, “Rockefeller Center has such a nice rink. It’s lovely, well-kept, and –“

            “And completely overpriced,” Dean cuts her off, shaking his head, “You want to ice skate? We can do that anywhere else.”

            “And where would you suggest, then?” Mary asks him, arms crossed over her chest.

            “I got an idea,” Dean tells them, “One that will make all your sight seeing eyes happy.” 

* * *

             Bryant Park was fairly crowded, a surprise this time of year. But thankfully, the people who did walk through the park were more courteous and less hazardous then those in other areas of the city. Castiel was sure that the mix of the crowd leaned more to the side of locals. There was more space to move and to breathe, as long as they steered clear of the Christmas village. Which, from what he could tell, was looking less and less likely of happening.

            “After, Ma, after,” Dean practically whines, “There’s barely anyone on the ice, we gotta strike while it’s hot.”

            “Poor choice of words, Dean,” Jess says in passing, patting his shoulder affectionately. She and Sam stand in line behind Jo and Mick for the ice skate rentals. After a few more minutes of discussion, Mary relents to join the others in getting their skates, leaving Dean and Castiel at the end of the line. Dean sags into him, and Castiel grabs at his waist.

            “Sorry,” Dean sighs, turning to nose at Castiel’s jaw, tickling him, “I know it’s only been a couple a’hours…”

            “Nonsense,” Castiel smiles, squeezing at Dean’s hips, “family time _can_ be taxing. I understand.”

            Except Castiel kind of doesn’t. There’s such an exhilaration to being part of a dynamic that’s a total reversal of what he’s known families to be given his experience. Watching the friendly bickering, where each barb was laced in love instead of venom and all the smiles were genuine and not as fake as a discount leather belt filled him with an energy and warmth that no dessert has ever given him.

            A tiny voice pricks at the back of his brain that sounds a lot like his former therapist tells him that maybe he uses sugar as a substitute for love and connection, but before he can spend too much time thinking that over, Dean is handing him a pair of skates.

            “Ten, right?”

            “Yes,” Castiel says, “Ten exact.”

            “Great,” Dean says, smiling as he pays the attendant. He takes another pair of skates and then they move towards the benches.

            Dean wastes no time in putting them on, and while Castiel is still working on tightening his first skate, Dean is bouncing towards the ice. He casts a sideways glance at Castiel, frozen at the entrance.

            “Go,” Castiel says, “I’ll be just a moment.”

            Dean nods and enters. He wobbles across the ice at first, but it only takes a few seconds before he’s gliding fast towards the other side. Castiel has his other foot half-in the skate, letting it dangle in his grip as he’s mesmerized by the fluidity of Dean’s movements. Like on land, his body is full of a swagger that boasts confidence. But his twinkling eyes and charming smile inspire fondness and not exasperation from others. Even now, Castiel can tell he’s not the only one enchanted by Dean’s performance.

            “Graceful, isn’t he?”

            Castiel spooks, John’s comment catching him off-guard. The older man had taken Dean’s place, both his skates still in his hand.

            “Y-yes….” Castiel swallows past the lump his heart makes in his throat, “He is.”

            “Probably all those dance classes he took when he was younger,” John chuckles, unlacing his left boot, “You’d think with those bowlegs he wouldn’t be able to move like that… but up until his freshman year he was one of the best kids in his class.”

            “What happened his freshman year?”

            “He stopped,” John turns to him, “High school isn’t kind.”

            “That’s the truth…”

            “Look, Castiel,” John starts, “I want to apologize if I might have said anything that seemed offensive –“

            “You don’t need to apologize,” Castiel cuts him off, “You were caught off-guard. Dean’s methods were… shocking.”

            “That’s a word for it,” John huffs, smiling, “Boy could never do something simply. But… he gets that from his _mother_.”

            Cas feels a smile of his own bubbling to the surface, “I take it Mary did something similar when she introduced you to her parents?”

            “Not quite,” he chuckles, scrubbing a hand down his face, “Mary got the jump on _me_. Apparently they wanted to know where their _darling daughter_ was spending all her time she _said_ she was studying for college. Now, instead of telling them that she was dating someone and apologize for keeping it secret, she proceeds to drag them to the motel I was staying at in Lawrence –“

            “You’re not originally from Lawrence?”

            “No,” John says, “I was taking time off - trying to find myself - hitch-hiking across America, seeing the sights and being independent. Took a _long_ pit-stop in Lawrence when I met Mary. Anyway, that day a few people I knew from criss-crossing the states had stopped by and dropped off some ah… _hallucinogens_.”

            “No.”

            “When they get there I’m already halfway through my trip and I had to try and act normal even though I’m pretty sure her father had eels coming out of his ears and her mother’s hair changed colors every time I blinked my eyes.”

            “That does sound… challenging,” Cas says, “They never found out?”

            “Oh, they _knew_ ,” John chuckles, “S’why they forbade her from ever talking to me again.”

            “They did?”

            “Yeah… and I thank them for doing so,” John says, to Castiel’s surprise, “Helped me clean up my act a bit. Decided that I had done enough traveling for a while and I started putting roots down in Lawrence. Didn’t have much to my name but a high school degree, but I met up with Bobby,” he nods to the other man, who’s skating haphazardly across the ice, “and he hired me to help run his family’s auto-shop. I didn’t know he was dating Ellen, Mary’s sister, at the time. Cue my surprise when they stop over after classes one day and we reconnect. We continue where we left off, although the next time I meet her folks I’m _sober_.”

            “Did they recognize you, though?”

            “God, no,” John laughs loudly, “They told me about the ‘deviant hippie boy’ Mary had been seeing before and I nearly lost control and told ‘em it was me. Figured I should save it for my speech at the reception – the right decision, in the end.”

            “I’ll bet,” Castiel says, looking at him, “Although from what I’ve just heard it seems like Mary isn’t the only one who has a flair for the dramatics.”

            “It rubs off on ya’, over time,” John sighs, gazing at Mary with such love and adoration, Castiel feels he’s walked in on a private moment. He turns his eyes away, looking down at his skates.

            “Y’know, Castiel,” John continues, “I know it’s only been two days since I’ve met ya’, but you seem good for Dean.”

            “Hm?”

            “He’s always been a little… high-strung?” John explains, “I mean… he never seemed to fully relax, even around us. Now, that might have had something to do with keeping a few _things_ to himself… but I’ve _never_ seen him act the way he does now.” He’s looking at him now, and Castiel begs for a hole to open under him. “The boy’s the last one I’d expect to be so touchy-feely in public – I remember in high school he’d barely hold his girlfriend Lisa’s hand, even on prom night – but I look over at the two of you and there’s barely a time where you aren’t pressed against each other. I mean, look –“ He pulls out his phone, where a picture of Dean bracketed on either side by Castiel’s legs is. Castiel _may_ have been using Dean’s head as a table, but from Dean’s expression you can tell he didn’t mind. “ – That smile is something I’ve never seen and what Mary’s been praying for Dean to have.”

            “…And you’re telling me this… why?”

            “Maybe it’s because I like ya’,” John smirks, standing, “Or maybe I want you to know how much that smile means to us… and how _crushed_ we’d be if you cause it to go away.”

            Castiel is barely able to swallow past his heart this time.

            “Now c’mon, we don’t have all day.”

            John hops onto the ice, skating over to where Mary and Sam are, breaking between the two of them and scooping Mary away into his arms.

            Castiel tries to stand, but his legs wobble and send him back onto the bench. John’s words bounce inside his skull, along with the image of he and Dean from last night. He’d have to be blind to not notice Dean’s smiles… but John is right. There’s the smile Dean has on display for everyone else… and there are the ones he saves for Castiel. He’d thought they were one and the same up until now, but with this new information… he doesn’t know what to do.

            Dean makes the decision for him.

            “Cas!” Dean calls, bringing him back to the present, “You alright?” He’s leaning against the edge of the barrier, eyebrows drawn in worry.

            “Yeah,” Castiel says, standing, hobbling over to Dean, “It’s… been awhile. Just building up my confidence for when you laugh at me.”

            “Aw Angelface,” Dean giggles, smiling at him – that _damned_ special smile – and holding his hand out, “If you want you can hold my hand?”

            “You’re so kind,” Castiel deadpans, walking towards the gate, “But I think I can manage.”

            Falling on his ass only seconds later, proves that he cannot.

            Dean skates by smugly, “Can you?”

            “…Shut up.” 

* * *

             Castiel collapses against the subway bench, kneading at his eyes with frostbitten fingers. Dean takes up the space next to him, leaning against him with droopy eyes and hands filled with bags.

            “Good day?” Dean asks, the corners of his lips pulling up slightly. Castiel lets his fingers fall to his lap as he glances over at Dean.

            “It was… fun,” Castiel starts, “But I hope I never see another flash in my life.”

            “Sorry,” Dean chuckles, “Should’ve warned you how much Ma loves taking photos. Before the camera phone, she was big on scrapbookin’.”

            “Well I think after today she’ll have enough photos for _two_ books.” Nothing was safe from Mary’s album. From buildings to window displays to people, Mary spent a lot of her time today looking through her phone.

            “And they say _we_ spend too much time on those things,” Dean had whispered to him during lunch, when Mary was scrolling through all the pictures she had taken and showing her favorites to John. Castiel had almost choked on his sandwich.

            “She’s just happy,” Dean says, “It’s rare for Ma to get away from Lawrence for this long. Couple that with _us_ … this trip couldn’t be any more perfect.”

            “It looks like your plan was the right thing after all then,” Castiel says, without thinking. He feels Dean stiffen at his side almost immediately.

            “Yeah,” Dean whispers, curling in on himself and away from Castiel, “Looks like it.”

            Dean’s posture, the way he can’t meet Castiel’s eyes, well… it’s the coldest Castiel has felt all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! Let me know what you liked! Leave a kudos and drop a comment!


	9. Cuffed to the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! This was such a hard chapter to write but hopefully everything else falls into place afterwards!

            He couldn’t get comfortable. No matter how he turned or tumbled, legs tangling within the blanket, nor how much he beat his pillow – nothing worked. Dean vaguely recalls passing out at some point, but the way the harsh pounding is splitting his head open makes him think it was only a few moments ago.

            “’M coming, ‘m coming…” he grumbles, swinging his legs out of bed and onto the cold floor beneath. He gets up, shuffling forward, rubbing at his left eye like it was a grease stain on a white shirt. Dean reaches the door and swings it open, mouth firmly taut.

            Sam’s smiling face on the other side didn’t belay Dean’s aggravation to being woken up so early. Neither did his attempt at a peace offering with a bag of McDonald’s breakfast.

            “Do you have a second?” Sam asks, holding the bag next to his face and shaking it.

            Dean doesn’t answer. Instead he grabs for the bag and slams the door on Sam’s face. He hears Sam splutter on his way to the kitchen. He’s replacing the Keurig cup when he hears the front door open once more.

            “Did you have to do that?” Sam scoffs, his face matching something similar to Dean’s, which finally makes him feel better.

            “I didn’t _lock_ it,” Dean says, shrugging. Sam rolls his eyes, but reclaims the bag and pulls out two Styrofoam boxes.

            “You have any syrup? They didn’t give us much…”

            “Left door, next to the relish.”

            The refrigerator door opens, and Dean hears Sam plop Mrs. Buttersworth onto the counter.

            Dean grabs two coffee mugs, letting one fill up before he turns to Sam, “You get any hash browns?”

            Sam smiles, “Would it _be_ breakfast if I didn’t?”

            “Right on.” Dean reaches into the bag and pulls it out, munching on it happily. The Keurig stops, and Dean hands the cup over to Sam before setting it up for himself. “Milk’s in the fridge, and check the cabinet over the oven for the sugar bowl.”

            “Sugar bowl?” Sam smirks, “When did you get one of those?”

            Dean smiles to himself, looking down at the pocket-sized fried potato. “When I got sick of Cas digging into the bags of sugar I use for baking,” Dean chuckles, “Man’s got a sweet tooth on him.”

            “With the way he tore into your cookies – and the cake at the diner,” Sam remembers, “I’m not surprised.”

            Dean’s nibbling on the hash brown again, thoughts focused on Cas, when it comes back to him. The train station, the plan, and the reason he had not gotten any sleep the night before.

            It had been perfect, the other day. Cas and he had fallen into such an easy rhythm together; Dean nearly convinced _himself_ they weren’t just doing this all for his family’s sake. That when Dean met Cas in the bar so many nights ago, he didn’t make an ass of himself and fall into the type of shit you’d usually see on Hallmark, Sundays at 8 o’clock.

            Last night was peppered with blurry visions of he and Cas, in a future where Dean’s family’s visit wasn’t an expiration date looming over their heads. Each picture perfect moment was just another example of all the good things Dean could never have because they were not real.

            Dean had done his best to not be tricked into believing that anything more could come from what he had now. He was confident he wouldn’t fall because he didn’t know Cas like he does. But with every stare and lingering touch, it was harder for Dean not to dive in.

            He sits dangerously close to the edge, teetering back and forth with every smile Cas deigns to give him. What holds him at bay is the reality of their situation. It’s snaked itself around him like a coil, squeezing him until he couldn’t breathe. But that night he was gasping _lungfuls_. He bungeed over the edge every time he drifted towards unconsciousness, and back to solid ground when the tiny voice in his head reminded him what his dreams were: just that, and nothing more.

            “Hello, Earth to Dean?” Sam asks, waving a hand in front of him, “You okay?”

            “Hmm? Oh, um- yeah,” Dean lies, over-exaggerating a yawn, “Still on the mend from yesterday. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

            “Oh really?” Sam wiggles his eyebrows, looking around, “Should I have gotten an extra meal for Cas?”

            “Shaddup,” Dean whines, blushing and pushing Sam away half-heartedly, “Not like that. He’s back at his place.”

            “He didn’t stay the night?”

            “Ah… no,” Dean turns, grabbing his cold coffee and taking a sip, “He had something to do pretty early in the city – told him it’d be easier if he stayed at his place than make the commute from here.”

            “Huh,” Sam says, “Well… that’s for the best.”

            Dean looks back at him, and now Sam is the one who looks sketchy. He’s hunching in on himself, looking all around Dean’s kitchen avoiding making contact.

            “Did you want to talk about something?” Dean asks, a nagging suspicion eating at the base of his skull, “Was McDonald’s just a bribe?”

            “No… but it was a conversation starter?”

            “Y’know what’s a conversation starter, Sammy?” Dean smirks, “Hi, hello, hey there –“

            “C’mon Dean, this is important.”

            That was all Dean needed to see past the behemoth his brother had become and remember a simpler time for both of them. Sam had whined those same words – in the same pitch – when Dean wouldn’t take his rehearsing seriously. It’s not like he needed to, Sam had only a few lines in My Fair Lady.

            He still nailed them.

            “Sorry,” Dean says, “I’m here, I’m present… tell me what’s on your mind.”

            “Okay,” Sam starts, bracing himself against the counter, “Okay… so I know this is probably big… and I wanted to come to you first because you’re not just my brother but my best friend… and I wanted to get your opinion –“

            “Sam just spit it out –“

            “I’m gonna propose to Jess!”

            Dean nearly drops his mug. He shakes himself out of his stupor and deposits it before sweeping Sam into a bone-crushing hug.

            “That’s freakin’ fantastic Sam!” he gushes, “I can’t believe you’re finally going through with it.”

            “Thanks, Dean,” Sam chuckles, returning Dean’s hug with a less enthusiastic one, “But I should really be thanking you.”

            Dean pulls back, confused, “What do you mean?”

            “Well,” Sam starts, “I’ve been thinking about doing this for awhile now… I bought the ring last year – was gonna do it on Jess’s birthday. But I felt… I felt that it wasn’t the time. Maybe because we were going through a lot that year… or maybe I felt… _bad_ …”

            “Bad?”

            “It’s just… I figured if I proposed to Jess, then mom would set all her sights on… _you_.” Dean feels an energy surge through him that definitely wasn’t the caffeine. It was cold and heavy, crushing him. “And… well, we know how you respond to _that_. But then you _surprised_ us with Cas,” Dean’s stomach starts to gnaw on itself, “And all that worry kind of just… disappeared. Seeing that you have someone, I think it’s a sign that I should do it – now, while we’re all together.”

            “Sam… I don’t know what to say,” Dean says, rubbing at his jaw, “You didn’t… I would have been fine if you wanted to propose earlier –“

            “I know you’d be _fine_ , but still…” Sam says, “I didn’t want it to be weird. Me settling down before you and all… it shouldn’t matter but every time I thought about it I had this fear… that maybe you’d just resent me? It’s silly…”

            “It’s hysterical,” Dean nods, frowning, “I’d never resent you – especially for something like _this_. How could you even think something like that?”

            “Fear’s a hell of a drug,” Sam shrugs, finally looking at him, “I mean… isn’t that why you didn’t tell us you liked guys?”

            “…Well –“

            “Logically, I knew you’d be nothing but supportive,” he explains, “but that didn’t stop me from staring at the ring, and then seeing you looking at me with that… weird smile you do when you want to look happy but you’re anything but? Next to Jess, you’re the person I’m closest to, and I don’t want anything to drive us apart.”

            “Sammy… I’m – I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Dean says, “I should’ve… you’re right. I really didn’t have anything holding me back from telling any of you except… well, except my imagination running wild. And I should’ve known well enough that you wouldn’t have turned me away.”

            “It’s all in the past, Dean,” Sam smiles at him, “You’re happy… that’s all we want.”

            Now Dean can’t meet Sam’s eyes. He plays with the hash brown wrapper, twisting it in his hands. He chews on his lip, “Yeah…” He clears his throat, “You said you had a ring… can I see?”

            Sam takes the bait and digs the box out from his pocket, diving into the entire history he’s had with the ring. Dean lets him babble, Sam’s voice a welcome distraction from the darkness cloying its way up Dean’s throat. 

* * *

            Dean still acts strange.

            He hadn’t said much when Castiel had met up with the Winchesters, just kissing him on the cheek and carrying on his conversation with Jo. Castiel didn’t think much of it, immediately getting wrapped into a debate between Sam and John about music – and where he could see the merits of Sam’s argument, he agreed with John on the fact that the Dead would always be better than Phish.

            “I knew I liked you,” John had laughed, clapping him on the back.

            “Such a suck up,” Sam said, frowning, “You don’t have to try so hard, Cas.”

            “It was just my honest opinion, Sam,” Castiel said, blinking up at him. Sam rolled his eyes, and kept the exchange going.

            Their day in the city was much more relaxed than yesterday. There were still sights to be seen, but the rush was gone. Instead of fighting with crowds at the popular tourist traps, Dean was leading them towards other parts of the city, areas he had grown fond of in his time of living there. Castiel was as invested as the rest of them; having never heard of a few of the places Dean was showing them. And seeing them through Dean’s eyes, it made him love them as well. Made him wish it were only Castiel he was showing these to. It had felt like that, when their eyes would meet. But just as soon as they did, Dean would pull away, breaking whatever connection was starting to form.

            The sky was beginning to darken when Mary announced their plans.

            “You kids have fun,” she says, grabbing John’s hand, “We’ll have to get going if we want to make it.”

            “Make what?” Castiel asks, tilting his head to the side. Dean chuckles at his side, pressing in close to whisper.

            “They got tickets to see a show,” he told him, “Last-minute.” He pulls away just as fast, keeping a close but surprisingly uncomfortable distance from him. Castiel had gotten used to him being _closer_.

            “It wasn’t last-minute, Dean,” Mary huffs, “We had planned on seeing one while we were here, but it would be cheaper to buy it day of.”

            “What tickets did you end up getting?”

            “The ones with the green witch,” John tries to remember, “Y’know, from the Wizard of Oz.”

            Castiel can see Dean stiffen beside him, ducking his head as a flush starts creeping its way up his neck. No one else seems to notice.

            “Wicked,” Sam says.

            “It does sound cool –“

            “No, dad,” Sam continues, “The show’s name is _Wicked._ As in _Wicked Witch of the West_?”

            “Oh,” John mutters, frowning, “Yeah…”

            “C’mon,” Ellen says, already walking away with Bobby by her side, “I don’t want to be late. We still have to stop at the hotel.”

            “Text us when you guys head back,” Mary says, being led away by the others, “We’ll keep in touch with you, too. Stay safe!”

            “You have fun you kooky kids!” Jo calls out, turning to the group, her hand over her heart, “Boy… they grow up fast.”

            They’re laughing, letting pedestrians walk around the semi-circle they’ve formed. Jo is leaning into Mick’s side, and Sam and Jess are fit together nicely, both bundled up in their down jackets. Dean has recovered slightly, pulling at his scarf a bit.

            “So,” Sam starts, “What should we do now?”

            “They’re going to a show,” Jess says, “Who says we can’t?”

            “At this hour?” Dean scoffs, “Jess, there ain’t gonna be anything good available.”

            “Movie, then?” Jo puts in, “Isn’t that new Star Wars movie supposed to be out?”

            “God, no,” Sam says, “ _I_ saw it opening night – wasn’t worth the money.”

            “Really?” Dean asks, “I had heard it wasn’t that great but…”

            “You mean you didn’t see it?” Sam asks.

            “I was kind of busy.”

            “Dean, you were the one who made us camp out for The Force Awakens.”

            “You even made us dress up,” Jo points out, “You put me in that God-awful R2D2 costume.”

            “You looked adorable, Joanna Beth,” Dean pouts, “And hey, if it’s as bad as you said it was maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t see it.”

            “So no movie, no play…” Jess says, “Dinner?”

            “Yeah, I could eat,” Sam nods, slinging an arm around her. Mick and Jo also voice their approval, and they look towards the hold-outs.

            “Dean, Cas?” Sam asks, “Food?”

            “Yeah, might as well,” Dean says, “Anyone have any suggestions?”

            “I have one,” Castiel says, an idea forming in his mind. Inspired by all that Dean had shared with him, he decides to return the favor. “You remember that place I told you about… the diner with those burgers…”

            “Oh, I remember a good burger, Cas,” Dean chuckled, smiling at him, “Is it close?”

            “Somewhat,” he shrugs, “But I’m sure a little walk will only serve to whet our appetites.”

            “Whaddya say guys?” Dean asks the group, “Y’all in?” No one disagrees, so Castiel takes charge of the pack, tugging Dean forward. They fall into step easily. Dean leans in close, pressing his ear into Castiel’s hair and ghosting a question across Castiel’s ear.

            “Would Benny mind giving away _all_ his food for _free_?”

            “It’s still a business, Dean,” Cas huffs, turning in a smidge, “But… I might be able to leverage a discount.”

            “That’s good enough,” Dean shrugs, pulling away. His cheeks are dusted pink, making his freckles stand out. He’s doing his weird smile again, and Castiel can tell that he’s uncomfortable. He doesn’t have long to dwell on it for long, because foot traffic picks up and he has to concentrate more on what’s ahead of him than on who’s next to him, and more importantly – what he’s _thinking_.

* * *

             Surprisingly, Benny _did_ give away his food for free.

            Well – to everyone but Sam, unfortunately. Castiel had tried to warn him, but he’d been a second too late, and Benny was giving him the evil eye for saying the word ‘salad’ in his place of business. He’d finished getting everyone else’s orders, taking extra time with Dean’s. They had struck up an easy rapport, and Benny could see the hidden inquisitions behind his casual chat. When he went to get started on the food, he sent a quick wink Castiel’s way that he was sure the others saw.

            Well, again except for Sam, who was pouting over the sass he was served ‘on the house’ as Benny put it.

            “I don’t get how someone could be so affronted by a salad?” Sam grumbles, sinking into the faded red vinyl of their seats, “It’s food.”

            “Well you know what they say Sammy,” Dean smirks, “you don’t win friends with _salad_!”

            “…Shut up.”

            After Jess managed to kiss the aggravation off of Sammy, the group fell back into an easy banter. It carried out through dinner, and was still strong when all their plates were clear. They were sharing stories, inside jokes, observations – Castiel was learning so much about the family he had latched on to, it was easy to fall into the illusion and forget the truth. He didn’t have to pay as close attention as he was, but Dean was just too… _fascinating_. The more he learned, the more he came to understand the man next to him, and the deeper he fell.

            “Dean here,” Sam starts, still gasping for breath from earlier, “was always getting into trouble because he didn’t think ahead. There was one time, when I was six –“

            “Not this story!”

            “Shut up! Okay, so when I was six – we were playing Justice League. I was Superman and he was Batman. So anyway, we’re playing, and Dean’s being Dean, getting into character. He manages to climb up on the roof and is making a fool of himself, but I was miffed he was ignoring me. So I manage to climb up on the roof, too, to show him that I was just as cool as he was. One misstep later and I was on the ground, and my arm was broken! Mom was calling for us, asking for what happened, and Dean did the only thing he could think of.”

            Castiel leaned forward, smiling wolfishly, “What did he do?”

            “I…” Dean blushes, mumbling the last part out into his napkin.

            “Come again?”

            “He jumped off the roof,” Sam says, “Landed on his arm as well. Figured that mom wouldn’t be mad with him if we _both_ had broken arms!”

            “Did it work?”

            “…No.” Dean’s soft admission caused another raucous uproar of laughter to follow, and Castiel couldn’t help the swell in his heart seeing Dean flushing so harsh, his neck painted red. He moved his arm to wrap around Dean, but before he could get a firm hold, Dean shot up. “If you’ll excuse me,” Dean rushes out, turning, “I need to use the bathroom.” They watch him fast-walk towards the back. Castiel feels the swell fall, replacing itself with worry.

            “Oh, don’t mind him, Cas,” Jo says, patting his hand, “He’s so easy to embarrass.”

            “Should have seen him on his prom night,” Sam chuckles, “mom wouldn’t stop taking pictures – and the _questions_ she asked after!”

            “Remember the questions Dean got when it turned out Lisa was pregnant halfway through summer vacation!” Jo says, “Aunt Mary didn’t know whether to jump for joy or murder him!”

            “Pregnant?” Castiel asks, frowning.

            “Don’t worry,” Sam starts, easing him back into his seat from across the table, “Turned out during prom, Lisa and the school’s quarterback managed to sneak away and _do_ the _do_ so… Dean escaped fatherhood.”

            “And it’s not like there’s any chance he’ll knock you up, so,” Jo claps him on the back, “We’re all good, here.”

            Castiel hums, leaning back in his seat. He takes another glance at the bathroom door, and starts to drum his fingers on the table.

            “Cas,” Sam draws his attention away, “You okay, man?”

            “I’m fine,” he starts, thinking about his answer, “It’s your brother I’m worried about?”

            “Dean?”

            “Yes,” Castiel glances around, glad that the others are absorbed in another conversation, “I feel he’s been acting a bit…” Castiel searches for the right word, “odd?”

            “Don’t think about it too much, Cas,” Sam tells him, shrugging, “I think the past two days are finally catching up with him.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Dean’s not really used to all this… sharing and talking about feelings,” Sam explains, “he’s also worse at expressing them –“

            “How so?”

            “Short and stiff hugs, awkward phrases, not big on PDA, y’know,” Sam rattles off, playing with his napkin, “All that stuff.”

            “He’s also horrible at accepting praise,” Cas tacks on, blushing slightly after he realizes what he says. Sam grins at him.

            “Exactly. But he’s been a lot more… open? Yeah, open, since we came here. It was a change.”

            “Your father told me something very similar,” Cas says, “I hope you also aren’t going to vaguely threaten me as well?”

            “Don’t want to sound _too_ much like my dad,” Sam says, “Let’s just hope we never have to cross that bridge… because you will most likely be thrown off it. Into the East River.”

            Castiel presses his mouth into a taut line, “Duly noted.” He’s going to say more, but at that moment, Dean ambles his way towards them. He looks less flushed, and shoots Castiel something of an easy grin.

            “Everyone ready?” he asks, putting a hand on Castiel’s back, squeezing.

            “I think so,” Jess says, “Sam just needs to settle up his bill.” They all laugh as Sam rips his napkin in half, scowling.

            “Whatever,” he grumbles, “it was an _okay_ salad anyway…” 

* * *

             Dean bides his time tearing at his sandwich. He’s too nervous to take large bites, and settles on ripping off bite-size pieces and popping them into his mouth every few seconds or so. It’s not like he’s in a rush, he’s got all the time in the world.

            He’s still miffed, however, when Charlie stumbles into the Pret a Manger nearly 20 minutes late with a large coffee and overly-large sunglasses.

            “Really?” he asks, “It’s almost 1 o’clock!”

            She shushes him, stumbling over to his table. She doesn’t bother getting anything to eat, collapsing onto the chair and wincing at the sound.

            “Rough night?”

            “No,” she pouts, “It was _fantastic_.”

            “Then why do you look so sad?”

            “Maybe it’s the fact that some jerk asked me to wake up and meet him on my first day of vacation?” Charlie asks, pushing her sunglasses up on her head to glare at him better. “Taking me out of the bed of the lovely girl I managed to pick up last night and suffer holiday commuter traffic for some lousy food.”

            Dean raised his brows, nodding proudly. “You get some last night?” he smirks, “Nice. What she look like?”

            “Brunette with these _sinful_ red lips and _gorgeous_ breasts,” Charlie gushes, leaning on her fist, “Feisty too. I was talking up this one girl, and she practically knocked this poor dude’s drink on her to get her away from me. She plays dirty – in _and_ out of bed.”

            Dean whistles. “Awesome.”

            “ _Anyway_ ,” Charlie sighs, straightening up, “Enough about me, this isn’t _my_  fanfic…”

            “What?”

            “You said you wanted to talk?” Charlie continues, “Is everything all right in Winchester-land?”

            Dean pouts, and pops another piece of sandwich into his mouth. “It’s goin' fine,” Dean starts, “We’re all takin’ a break from each other today, figured we’d all see each other tomorrow and Christmas Day anyway. You still comin’?”

            “Wouldn’t miss it.”

            “So that’s that… but it’s not why I wanted to talk –“

            “Does it have anything to do with the elephant in the room wearing a trench coat?”

            Dean sighs, rubbing at his forehead, “…Yes.”

            He doesn’t follow that up. Charlie kicks him in the shin. “And?”

            “And… I may be…” he whispers the rest of it into his drink.

            “Stop doing that,” she kicks again, _harder_ , “I fucking _hate_ when you do that.”

            “I’m starting to _like_ him, alright!” Dean nearly shouts, rubbing at his shin. He looks down, unable to look Charlie in the eyes. He’s waiting for her to say something, but as the seconds tick by so does the silence. He glances up through his lashes to see her shooting him a bored stare.

            “Yeah, and?”

            “Wait, really?” Dean asks, “You’re not surprised?”

            “I’m not surprised, I’m _disappointed_ ,” she says, frowning at him, “But surprised I am not. What did I tell you was the one thing you weren’t supposed to do?”

            “…Fall for him –“

            “Fall for him!” she exclaims, “You cliché gay – you’re really living a Hallmark movie!”

            “I know,” Dean whines, “And I didn’t _mean_ to it just… it just happened!”

            “It didn’t just _happen_ Dean, these things never do,” Charlie starts, “You made a choice that backfired on you. You let your mind get ahead of you and instead of thinking things through, you did something over-the-top and full of risks and landed yourself where you are now.”

            Dean blanches, looking away again. He has nothing to add, agreeing with everything Charlie said.

            “But it’s not the worse thing in the world,” Charlie continues, softer, squeezing his hand from across the table, “You liking him –“

            “Charlie –“

            “I mean it’s gonna be awkward,” she chuckles, fiddling with the straw on her coffee cup, “having feelings for the man you’re ‘dating’. But it’s not like he doesn’t feel the same way…” She looks up to see Dean gaping at her.

            “What?” he whispers, blinking back into reality, “N – no… he doesn’t… I mean he can’t –“

            “And why can’t he?”

            “It’s just… I don’t know,” Dean pauses, “He seems so… he’s just this big complex puzzle I’m having a hard time figuring out. Like, maybe he might like me – as you say – but then I keep getting reminded that this is a deal and he still _wants_ something from me. And I don’t know what it is but it can’t – it certainly can’t be _that_ because why even bother with this whole pretense anyway when he could have easily just taken me on a date in the first place!”

            “Hold up,” Charlie stops him, “You don’t know what he _wants_ from you?”

            “I tried asking him,” Dean defends himself, “I thought it was kind of like those ‘you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours’ kinds of things and I’ll have to do the same thing with his family but… every time I tried to mention them earlier he’d clam up and change the subject.”

            “That _is_ strange behavior…” Charlie mutters, biting her lip, “And you _still_ went through with this?”

            Dean decidedly keeps quiet.

            “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, Winchester,” Charlie smirks, “You’re weak –“

            “Hey!”

            “But it’s a good kind of weak,” she continues, smiling, “You care too much. I’m sure that Cas knows it, too, and he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to take advantage of that – from what I’ve seen from him. Do you think he is?”

            “…No,” Dean admits, “He’s too nice and awkward to do that.”

            “Exactly,” Charlie smiles, “So just… keep doing what you’re doing now. Test the waters – see for _yourself_ if there’s something there instead of putting the kibosh on those thoughts the second they pop into your thick skull. And when your family leaves maybe ask him for drinks and a little foreplay.”

            Dean burns an even brighter red, scratching at what’s he’s sure is a lobster patch on the back of his neck. He bites his lip and looks up at Charlie, “You really think I should do this?”

            “It’s a bad idea, Dean,” she says, “You’re the only one who can make those work out perfectly.”

            Dean barks out a warbled laugh, and finishes the rest of his meal, catching up with Charlie and letting her distract himself from his love life with steamy stories of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this and the episode tonight!


	10. Cuffed to a Sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I'm gonna try my best to get the rest of these chapters out now that the season is over and summer is here!
> 
> There shouldn't be that many left, thankfully, so it won't be long.

            His mouth waters, staring at Dean’s oven as the timer slowly ticks down minute by minute. Castiel sits on the counter, wound tight, waiting for the telltale beep of a finished treat. The smell is already starting to waft around him, making his head dizzy. Dean paces back in forth around him, but Castiel pays him no mind; nothing can get between him and Dean’s cookies.

            _Beep Beep Beep_

            He springs forward, “I’ll get it-“

            Dean is already there, standing between Castiel and his love. “I don’t think so,” he says, “These are for _everybody_. Not just you.” Castiel releases an uncharacteristic whine and stamps his foot. Dean only raises a brow at his antics before turning away to remove the gingerbread family before they become charcoal. Just in time, too, as what must have been the mother looked a tad well done next to what Castiel can only guess was the ceiling of the gingerbread house.

            “Are you sure there isn’t anything for…” Castiel leans forward, hooking his chin over Dean’s shoulder, batting his lashes, “Me?”

            Dean snorts and pushes him away. “I’m sure you can wait a couple a’hours, angel.” Castiel pouts, his chin digging into his shirt.

            “But,” Dean drags out, Castiel watching him expectantly. He’s not staring at Castiel, but he can see the slight blush trailing its way from his cheeks and down his neck. “if your blood sugar starts to drop… there might be a few practice cookies chillin’ in the fridge.”

            Castiel grins. He leans forward and presses a sloppy kiss to Dean’s cheek before spinning around towards the fridge. When he turns back to Dean, half a gingerbread man already in his mouth, he finds Dean gaping at him. His hand hovers over his cheek, and there’s a soft look in his eyes that Cas can’t read.

            He tilts his head, mumbling out a “You okay?” through the cookie.

            Whatever spell he was under was short-lived, as Dean breaks their gaze and returns to his work, muttering out a meek “Why don’t you wait inside?”

            Castiel doesn’t, at first; he finishes up his cookie, watching Dean putter around the kitchen. He thinks about asking further, his detective instincts screaming that there’s something Dean isn’t telling him. But taking in his stance, his jittery fingers, and the way Dean’s eyes dart from him to the food to the clock, Castiel decides Dean might need to be alone for a few minutes. He squeezes him on the shoulder and takes the rest of the cookies back into the living room.

            Sitting on the sofa, Castiel finishes off the treats, taking extra care to keep the crumbs contained to the Tupperware. Dean had laid into him earlier in the morning, when he had accidentally tracked snow in – he doesn’t want to go through that again.

            He doesn’t know why Dean is worrying so much, though. They had gotten over the biggest hurdles – Dean’s family loved him and they all had a grand time together.

            Sure there had been some awkwardness – but that was mostly on Dean’s end. He wasn’t even sure if Dean had wanted him to come over so early today – preferring him to arrive just minutes before everyone else would. But yesterday, Dean had left him a voicemail he’s still puzzling over.

            “ _Hey Cas, just calling to see what’s up… so? How’s your day off? You get into any trouble? Not that – not that you would just… well, it’s weird not spending a day with you. We’ve been doing it non-stop – and I’m not saying it’s bad! I’ve just… I miss you – in a normal healthy amount and… well, Ma’s been askin’ bout you, too. Hope that’s not creepy because you’re not – but they think – I mean… just… checkin’ up on ya and… wondering when you’d be by tomorrow? I don’t want to make you come any earlier than you might want to but I… well, I wouldn’t mind if you come like, an hour or two before everyone’s set to arrive? It’s just… we haven’t spent much time alone together since they’ve been here. Even though that’s all we’ve been doing these past few weeks but I… and we might as well get you ready for what’s planned. Don’t want you to mess up and… this is getting long. Just… text me back. Yeah. Bye, angel.”_

            The text conversation after was much more clipped and impersonal then Castiel would have expected from Dean, but he pinned it on nerves. Just like he did with everything else. As Sam said, Dean’s not use to all this affection.

            His stomach squirms, and for once he doesn’t feel like finishing his cookies. Like an arrow, his mind had fired an intrusive thought that has pierced his heart. That maybe Dean wasn’t uncomfortable with the affection… but from whom it’s coming from.

            Castiel: his very much _fake_ boyfriend. He had assumed that Dean would be okay with anything that would prove their ‘relationship’ to his family. But… but maybe he had overstepped.

            It would make sense – seeing as how the closer Castiel had gotten the more Dean fought to pull himself away. He tried to put up a good front, but even Dean must have his limits when it comes to strangers they’ve only known for less than a month.

            And maybe there were some things Castiel didn’t have to do… things he only did because he _wanted_ to. Held on just a little too long… inched closer than good manners allowed… the more he thinks the longer the list of offenses becomes.

            He scrubs a hand down his face, and doesn’t know whether or not the gingerbread men are staging a revolution in his stomach, fighting to come up.

            He just wanted to spend Christmas with a family that loved and joked and _enjoyed_ each other’s presence. Maybe the fact that Dean was an attractive, sweet, and funny man was an added bonus… but this was what he wanted.

            Right?

            “You okay?”

            Castiel looks up at Dean, where he’s staring at him in concern from the kitchen entryway.

            “Yes,” he says, sitting up, “Just… I might have eaten my treats a tad too fast.”

            Dean snorts, walking closer. “Probably,” he starts, sitting down next to him, “I’m surprised there’s still some left.” He picks one up and takes a bite. “Although I’m glad, kind of wanted one of these myself.” Castiel hands the plastic over, and Dean takes it, shifting closer.

            “Move your arm” Dean tells him. Castiel does, letting Dean position himself under it, pressed against him. He finishes the first cookie and moves onto the second one happily.

            Castiel watches him, a mix of emotions warring within. He wants to pull away, increase the distance between them. But he also wants to bury his nose in Dean’s hair and breathe him in, kissing him softly on his crown. Lastly, he wants to talk. To ask Dean if this is okay – that he wants this even when no one is watching.

            He doesn’t. Because there’s a voice – a very familiar voice – that asks “ _What if he doesn’t?”_

            The answer to that would crush him.

            So he says nothing; instead watching Dean as he finishes his cookies, and waits for Dean’s family to arrive 

* * *

             This has to be one of the most relaxing holidays he’s ever spent with his family. Sure, he’s in charge of all the food, and there’re five people more than his apartment can fit, and he’s got both Jo and Sam – as clumsy as they are brash and tall, respectively – but he doesn’t let it get to him. He can’t. Because it’s his first holiday, in a long time, without:

            _“Oh, I thought you said something about bringing someone.”_

_“You’ll never guess who I ran into at the store, Dean? No – guess.”_

_“It’s an awfully big city, I just want to know my baby isn’t lonely every now and then.”_

            “Dean?” Mary cuts through his thoughts, “We seem to be running out of eggnog out here?”

            “I’ll get it,” he stands, patting Cas on the head before shuffling along to the kitchen. The two of them opted to take the floor along with Mick, Sam, and Charlie. The two men chat amicably from between the legs of their girlfriends. Jess plays with Sam’s hair while talking with Jo, who twitches to braid it while the younger Winchester isn’t watching. Taking the rest of the seats are the elders of their group. John and Ellen engaged in a heated discussion while Bobby and Mary discuss hunting season back in Kansas.

            Dean brings them a fresh bottle just as John pipes up with, “I’ll never see the fun in just taking an innocent creature’s life!”

            “You’re a bleeding heart, Winchester,” Ellen smirks, pouring a fresh glass, “Rather prance around with all the woodland critters instead of have _real_ fun.”

            “Aunt Ellen stop it,” Dean admonishes, “Let’s not get into this.”

            “Aw come on, Dean,” Jo calls out, “Wouldn’t be a holiday without Mom and Uncle John getting into one of their fabulous fights!”

            “Are these fights common?” Cas asks, concern etched clearly onto his face. Sam turns to him.

            “Yea, but it blows over,” he says, “One year, at the Fourth of July it got really heated. Ended with dad chained to a tree for three days. At least he and Aunt Ellen made up after.”

            “Huh…”

            “Come on, Cas,” Jo starts, “You know family… they fight, they yell, they kiss and make up. You probably have a few stories like that, don’t’cha?” Dean’s ears perk up, returning to his seat next to Cas. He didn’t have the nerve to bring up Cas’s family again after the last time, but leave it to Jo and her tact – or lack thereof.

            “Well,” Cas mutters, “Not really… my family isn’t one for ‘ _fights_ ’. It would require for members to show emotion at all. We prefer cordial formality and then talking behind their backs once they’re gone.” Dean’s mouth drops slightly, dis-ease bubbling within his stomach from the story.

            “Oh that’s… interesting,” Jo says, finding her drink more entertaining than the conversation.

            Dean frowns, watching Cas shift uncomfortably in his seat. ‘ _He mentioned family was a sore subject_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _And I’m starting to see why_ …’

            “All right,” Dean claps, drawing all attention to him, “I think this is enough time for idle chit-chat. I say we let the games begin!”

            “Games?”

            “Didn’t Dean tell you, Cas?” Jess asks, helped up by Sam, “Every year on Christmas Eve the Winchesters break out board games and play them.” Sam takes her seat, and she curls into his lap. Mick looks to Jo, but she glares him back onto the floor.

            “Really…”

            “And this year we’re starting with Trivial Pursuit!” Mary says, holding the box up for everyone to see, “Teams of two!” She glances at Charlie, “Or… I’m sure we can do three…”

            “It’s okay, Mary,” she says, grabbing the box from her, “I’ll read the questions. That way no one’s getting up every few seconds to hand the cards over.”

            “Thank you, dear,” Mary smiles, turning to John, “Oh won’t this be fun!”

            Dean snorts, leaning in to whisper to Cas, “She says that, but watch out.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “Ma is ruthless,” he explains, “When a game starts, she’s in it to _win_. Sammy and I always fought for our victories. She never took it easy on us – I didn’t win a game of Connect Four until I was _eleven_.” He hears Cas gulp beside him, and moves his hand over to lay over Cas’s. “But we’re two smart guys – I’m sure we’ll put up a good fight.”

            “Enough canoodling, young man,” Mary chastises them, “We’re in a game!” Dean blushes, inching away slightly. His hand remains on top of Cas’s.

            “So, John and Mary are yellow, Bobby and Ellen are orange, Jo and Mick are purple, Sam and Jess are pink, leaving…” Charlie smirks, glancing to her friends, “blue and green. Boys?”

            Dean says, “Blue,” just as Cas picks “Green”. They blink at each other, pouting. The others around them stifle laughter.

            “C’mon,” Charlie heckles them, “Which eye color are we going for?”

            Dean smirks, “I say we go with the prettiest.” He hopes the line will hit well, forcing Cas into a red-face and heavy tongue. Instead, the other man raises a brow and meets his challenge with his own smile. Cas turns to Charlie.

            “Of course,” he says, “So give us _green_.”

            Dean can’t tell if his face is red, but the large weight in his mouth keeps him silent for the first few rounds.

            It’s not like he’s needed, anyway. Each question their piece lands on, Cas has an answer for. He even shocked the group when he answered the question about Rhea Pearlman.

            “What?” Cas asked, “I… watched a lot of Cheers growing up.”

            “Who didn’t,” Bobby groused, nursing his eggnog. He and Ellen haven’t gotten very far, with only two pieces. They fare better than Jo and Mick, with a measly one piece in their wheel token. It’d be an easier time for them if she wasn’t getting more and more aggravated with each wrong answer – only leading to _more_ wrong answers. Sam and Jess have their wheel half-filled.

            Mary and Cas each have their wheels finished. However, for the elder Winchesters, their chance at victory was snatched when John answered the question instead of Mary. He’s been on the end of a cold shoulder ever since.

            Now, it’s Dean and Cas’s turn. But instead of Charlie picking the card, Mary holds her hand out. Silent, she waits for the redhead to place the deck in her hands.

            “Uh oh,” Dean tells him, “This ain’t good. She’s gonna do whatever she can to make us lose.”

            Cas smiles at him, “I’d like to see her try.” The dazzle nearly blinds Dean, hypnotizing him with its beauty. His unshakeable confidence also lights a fire within him, a blazing explosion of surety that they’ll win. It’s so intense he almost misses the question.

            “What,” Mary reads, “is the oldest registered trade mark still used in the U.S.?”

            Dean’s mind, if it wasn’t already, draws a blank. The crowd pins their hope onto their newest member, watching as he stares directly at their matriarch. There’s worry, until Dean can see his familiar smirk slip onto his face.

            “I believe that it’s the Red Devil Underwood Devilled Ham,” he says to their amazement. The family looks from him to Mary, who frowns dejectedly.

            “…He’s _right_.”

            Dean hollers, squeezing Cas tight around his shoulders and planting a sloppy kiss to the side of his mouth. “We did it Cas!” he cries, “We’ve unseated the reigning queen.”

            “Yeah, yeah…”

            “You know what that means, Dean,” Jo starts, “We’ve got a few new _queens_.” He glares at her, and then Sam as they snicker together.

            “How long have you been sitting on that one?”

            “Speaking of sitting…”

            “Enough with the gay jokes,” Dean growls, “You were never like this when you met Charlie.”

            “Well we didn’t know Charlie well enough, did we?” Jo says, “Now she’s one of us!”

            “Thank you Jo for not making fun of me on sight,” she tells her, “I’m glad you’re comfortable with joking about my lifestyle choices.”

            “Naturally.”

            Dean rolls his eyes at their banter, instead focusing on Cas. His grin of pride at the victory brought one to Dean’s face as well. He squeezes his hand, drawing the other man’s focus from the game to him. “How’s it feel being queen?” Dean asks.

            “Funny,” Cas tells him, “Not that different from the rest of my life – have I always been a queen?” Dean snorts, knocking his head into Cas’s shoulder.

            This has been one of the most relaxing holidays… and the _best_.

            Cas needs to be at every one from now on.

* * *

             Castiel rinses the last plate from dinner and dries it, leaving it in the dish rack. He hears the laughter from the other room and smiles. After a large feast, the group moved to the living room to set up the Christmas tree for tomorrow before they left. Dean had looked so stricken – knowing the dishes needed attending to otherwise the meal would be harder to remove in the morning. Luckily, Castiel was no stranger to dishes, and offered to do them for him.

            He was about to rejoin them, when he noticed someone watching him from the entrance.

            “You seem very at home here Cas,” Jess says, walking further into the kitchen, “I’m glad we haven’t been too overwhelming.”

            “Nonsense,” Castiel waves her off, “It’s nice to be here with such a loving family.”

            “Yeah, no one cares more about family then the Winchesters,” Jess smiles wistfully, staring off into the distance, “I remember when Sam brought me back to Kansas… summer after his first year of law school. I had only met John at the time, joining him and Sam for a weekend of hikes. But the entire clan… there’s more, y’know? This is only just a small part of the Winchesters’ lives. They’re very well known back in Lawrence.” She chuckles, swirling around her seltzer – the only one that opted for a non-alcoholic beverage. “I felt like I was walking around with country royalty. And everyone wanted to know _all_ about me. Your business was _everybody’s_ business… so I get why Dean kept you a secret until now. But you… you fit so seamlessly in with us –“

            “I wouldn’t say that,” Castiel interrupts, “Mary seemed very cool with me at dinner.”

            “Oh, she just doesn’t like to lose,” she sighs, “I think she was taking time to adjust. Probably planning how she’ll beat you next time. At least we didn’t have enough time for charades –“ she leans forward, “she’s the _worst_ at it.” They share a laugh, both of them leaning back on opposite counters.

            “Anyway,” she continues, “From the start you just clicked with us – took all this crazy in stride. I had a long adjustment period, and I’m not even sure Mick feels comfortable being alone with _Bobby_ yet. But you…” she has a certain gleam in her eye, “Fit right in with this family. I’m glad Dean found you. Now when we get stuck at family tables, I’ll have someone to talk to when he and Sam get into one of their fights.”

            Castiel’s stomach drops out, dizzying at the mention of a future with the Winchesters. His mind drifts, body going through the motions as Jess steps across to hug him and rejoin the party. He’s following her, watching himself stand next to Dean as everyone around them gathers their coats.

            He comes back to himself when John claps him on the shoulder. “We’ll see you tomorrow, boy. Keep a good eye on him tonight,” he winks, “He won’t get a good night’s sleep if he’s up cleaning all hours.”

            “Dad!”

            “Bye Cas, dear,” Mary hugs him, whispering, “I expect some sort of rematch tomorrow.” He nods distractedly. The rest of the clan offers their goodbyes, even Charlie with a ‘later, bitches’. Now, only Castiel and Dean remain.

            “Well that went well,” Dean sighs, “You can leave if you want in a couple of minutes –“

            “Are you sure?”

            “I can handle this mess, I’m used to it –“

            “Nonsense, Dean,” Castiel follows him around, “Let me help. I can contribute in some way.”

            “Well…” Dean thinks, “You can grab the vacuum? I can put the leftovers away. It’s in the closet near the bathroom.” Castiel smiles: happy to help with the clean up.

            ‘ _The least I can do_ ,’ he sighs, rolling the Dyson out. Castiel starts near Sam’s seat, where most of the crumbs have collected. It’s a good while before he’s finished – more droppings then he had realized. Dean had finished with the leftovers, and after straightening out a few more things, watches him from his perch on the sofa.

            Castiel turns the vacuum off with a flourish, collapsing next to Dean. He looks to where the other man sits, finding him grinning, his chin resting on his fist.

            “What?” he asks, “Is there something on my face?”

            “No,” Dean giggles, “Just… _happy_ , I guess. Tonight was fun…” he reaches across to intertwine hands with Castiel, “I’m glad you were here.” Like earlier, Castiel’s heart flutters before crashing harshly into the ground. He stands, pulling away from Dean.

            “It was,” he starts, “But I think I must be getting home. It’s late… and your parents promised to be here early for festivities.”

            “I’m not a kid, Cas,” Dean pouts, “I can stay up a little – _yaaawn_!” He raises a brow as Dean rubs at his eye. “Shut up,” Dean mumbles.

            “You get to bed,” Castiel smiles, going for his jacket, “I will…” He pauses, eyes drawn to the windows. On the other side, heavy drops of snow fall in abundance, blocking the rest of the view from sight. “I will… apparently stay here.”

            “Shit,” Dean breathes, watching the flakes with him, “That’s a lot.”

            “They said snow was in the area,” Castiel mutters, “But not this much.”

            “C’mon,” Dean nudges him, “We should get you settled.” Castiel follows Dean towards the closet, dragging the vacuum behind him. He places it back in its spot, and reaches for spare sheets. Dean has them in hand when he pauses, glancing at Castiel from the corner of his eye. He returns them, and moves away from the closet – towards his room.

            “It’d be weird,” Dean explains, “you’re my boyfriend… you shouldn’t be on the couch unless we had a fight. So why don’t you… why don’t we share – _tonight_. Besides… nights like these, heater goes on the fritz. Don’t want your frozen corpse on my conscious…”

            Dean rambles, fiddling with a pair of sleep pants he pulled out. Castiel frowns to himself, uneasy with his kindness. “Dean, I – I can’t,” he starts, “This might be overstepping my boundary –“

            “It’s overstepping nothing, Cas –“

            “I don’t mind taking the couch,” Castiel continues, “Honestly, I’ll go set it up for –“

            Dean grabs at his wrist, stopping him. His eyes burn into his, mouth set into a firm line. There’s a blush dusting his cheeks, but for once Dean doesn’t look away.

            “Cas,” he says, “You’re sleeping with me. It’s not an inconvenience or whatever it is you think. I _want_ you here… so, please?”

            The other man pulls out a puppy face that tugs at Castiel’s heartstrings. Enough so, he’s agreeing to his proposition. Dean hands him the pants and an undershirt, taking his clothes into the bathroom to change.

            ‘ _Offering me his room to change?_ ’ Cas thinks, unbuttoning his shirt, ‘ _Your kindness knows no limit, Dean Winchester_.’ He’s pulling back the covers when he re-emerges, the bundle of fabric under arm. Dean places it in a nearby hamper and wastes no time slipping into the bed.

            “Tiles’re cold,” he explains, “Sometimes I wish I could sleep with socks on – especially in the winter.”

            “But then you’d overheat,” Castiel says, joining him under the covers, “It’s a lose-lose situation.”

            “That it is.”

            They stare at each other once more, wearing small grins that – even despite how tired they are – wouldn’t quit. Dean scoots a tad closer, where Castiel can make out each individual freckle.

            “Thank you, Cas,” he whispers, voice loud in the silence of the room.

            “For what?” Castiel asks, “For helping with your family?”

            “That,” Dean shrugs, “But really for just… being here. With me. Even if how we met wasn’t the best of circumstances… I’m glad we did.”

            Castiel nods, “So do I, Dean.”

            “Night Cas.”

            “Goodnight.”

            Dean turns over, breaking the spell between him and Castiel. He tries to go to sleep, even when he hears the slight rumble of Dean’s snoring. But no matter how hard he searches, rest evades him at every turn. The rush of being so close to Dean – so close and unable to touch – has his nerves on edge, his mind racing.

            He only falls to slumber at the point of pure exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna ask if the wait was worth it, because it would only be if I had the entire work finished.
> 
> Thank you for your patience!


	11. Cuffed to some Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas! There's holiday joy, cheer, and good times... if only Dean and Cas could let themselves experience it. But once your inside your own head, it's hard to dig yourself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas... several months later.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

            ‘ _So warm_ …’ Dean snuggles deeper into the heat pressed against his back, pulling the blanket around him tighter. Usually, when waking, the morning chill cuts across his skin, leaving him with no other option but to wake up. Now, Dean can feel his mind slowing like molasses, the weight against him lulling him back towards the safety of unconsciousness.

            “Dean…”

            He freezes, eyes forced open by shock. Dean twists as much as he can, craning his neck to stare at Cas. The other man has him in a tight hold, slightly drooling on Dean’s pillow. Their noses brush, and he can feel his breath on his mouth.

            His heart hammers against his chest. Cas’s face has relaxed fully – the lines usually present smoothed from inaction. Dean commits certain features to memory: Cas’s eyelashes, his strong nose, and the little cleft in his chin.

            “So nice…” Cas murmurs again, tilting his head ever closer to Dean’s until their lips are barely touching. He blushes, hands twitching to reach out and touch. To trail fingers down tanned flesh and draw patterns until Cas wakes up. His breathing hitches, and Dean exhales sharply from his nose.

            ‘ _What’s he thinking of_?’ Dean wonders, Cas’s grip tightening and pulling him in and bringing chest onto chest. He knows that he should wake the other man up, but his thoughts break down when he feels a thick firmness pressing against his leg. His eyebrows shoot upwards, groaning at the scorching feeling.

            “ _Cas_ …”

            Cas’s eyes tear themselves open, directly staring into Dean’s eyes. He retracts quickly, moving over towards his own side of Dean’s bed. Sitting up, he curls in on himself, hands pooling over his lap and the bulge resting under the covers.

            Dean follows, reaching out to him, “Cas, it’s okay –“

            “Excuse me,” he says, fleeing, “I need – the bathroom, yes… _that_.” The door slams, Dean watching crestfallen. His hand droops back down, falling along with the mood.

            His heart still beats wildly, and even with Cas’s reaction, his own erection stands to attention. His body tingles from where it joined with Cas’s, electric humming beneath the skin. Dean’s throat dries up, swallowing around the lump in his throat made much harder.

            ‘ _That was… **wow**_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _We almost… we were… and then he –_ ‘ Dread creeps its way into his veins, chilling his body worse than any winter wind. ‘ _He ran_ … _so what does – what does that mean_.’ He hears a flush, ‘ _Does he not want this? Did I… was I reading into this?_ ’

            Cas comes back in, sheepish, shifting from foot to foot. “You were right,” he starts, “Those tiles _are_ cold. Do you happen to have anything I can _wear_ …?”

            “Oh, right,” Dean moves now, pulling together an outfit for Cas on instinct. He hands the clothes over, their hands brushing slightly. Dean doesn’t let go, and neither moves away. Instead, their gazes lock, and keep them trapped.

            “Cas…”

            Words break the prison of silence, and the other man snaps back to himself, tugging the clothes free of Dean’s grip. Blushing, he steps back into the bathroom with a small “thank you”.

            Again, leaving Dean with nothing but his quickly souring thoughts. 

* * *

             Dean has shrunk in on himself throughout the day. He’s doing a good job hiding it – faking smiles and laughing at the right times. But if he thinks no one is watching… it all slips away and leaves him looking like the discarded shell of a hermit crab. Probably trying to deal with the mistake Castiel dropped at his feet – all because he has no sense of decency anymore. He used to, before this plan was set in motion. But living in the fantasy has made dealing with the reality harsh: like stepping out into a blizzard and away from a roaring fireplace.

            When Dean’s family came by, Castiel thought that their antics would surely distract from the _wrongness_ churning in his gut, but his eyes drift back towards the other man and thoughts back to this morning.

            ‘ _Cas…_ ’

            He shakes Dean’s voice away, the usually calming sound grating like nails on a chalkboard in his heart.

            “Alright,” Bobby grunts, slamming an empty glass of eggnog against Dean’s coffee table, “Enough chit chat. We’re all here for one thing, so let’s get to it.” He moves towards the tree, rummaging around for a small package, tossing it towards Ellen. “Merry Christmas, darlin’.” She sighs sweetly, dropping a sloppy kiss onto his beard – forcing a blush out of the cantankerous man. Opening it, however, replaces the act with real joy. Ellen shows off a beautiful pair of peridot earrings, Mary snatching it out of her sister’s hands to sneak her own peek.

            “Wow!” Mary exclaims, “They’re beautiful! When did you pick this up?”

            “Probably when I went to get my gift,” John passes his own present towards Mary. The Winchester matriarch tosses Ellen’s gift back to her, grabbing for her own and tearing through the paper. She gasps at the beautiful necklace: tiny diamonds secured onto a tiny heart frame.

            “Oh, dear it’s so beautiful!” Mary squeals, hugging John tightly around the neck. It’s not for long, however, as she makes him put the gift on her that moment – to the amusement of the others.

            “While they’re doing that,” Ellen says, grabbing her own gift, “Let’s carry on with the merry making.”

            It’s a decent haul, if Castiel says so himself. It’s not as much as Christmases of his youth – where the word ‘enough’ was never heard. He’s pretty sure one year he had received more presents than there were states in the country! But… it’s also more than he’s seen recently; celebrating holidays alone didn’t leave time for gift giving. He never denied himself a passing whim, preferring purchases year-round instead of bulk shopping hauls at certain times.

            Besides, opening presents alone is sad – even for him.

            The pile has started to wind down, with each member of the Winchester clan enjoying his or her gifts. Jo sharpens all the new knives she received, playing with Mick as he tries to keep his new books in good condition. Bobby fiddles with his new tackle box, aligning all the new lures in order – he’d already finished organizing the tool box Jo, Sam and Dean bought him. Mary and Ellen trade their presents back and forth: the nice tops, jewelry, and especially the joke cook book Dean purchased for his mother.

            _“Dean_ ,” _Mary had sighed, “I don’t know why you think it can still happen after all these years?”_

_“I don’t know Ma,” Dean shrugs, bashfully looking away, “Funny at the time… don’t worry – my real present is right underneath it.”_

            John looks over the collection of vinyl records, recounting memories of seeing certain artists in person. Jess and Sam have a decent pile, but are too distracted by each other to pay it any mind. Dean, on the other hand, has his presents neatly piled onto the side next to him, nibbling on a leftover cookie from yesterday. Castiel frowns at how subdued Dean is acting.

            “Cas,” Mary starts, turning to him, “Don’t you have anything to give?”

            Both Castiel and Dean perk up at that, exchanging twin looks of horror. In all their run-around, their play-pretend, perfecting the lie… they had forgotten to get presents.

            “Oh, well – I…”

            “Cas doesn’t really celebrate Christmas,” Dean covers for him, “He asked about presents but I – uh… didn’t want to put him out… besides, him being here was enough of a gift… meeting you all, I mean. I couldn’t ask for anything else…”

            Castiel’s heart aches at the sight of the other man’s bittersweet smile. “Y – yeah,” he continues, clearing his throat, “My apologies but, I felt buying presents without having met you would be an exercise in futility.”

            “Aw sweetie, we would have loved whatever you gave,” Mary tells him, squeezing his wrist, “Maybe next year you can make it up with _two_ presents.”

            “Yeah… next year…”

            Swallowing around the lump in his throat becomes harder with each passing hour.

            “Well then,” John starts, “If that’s all –“

            “No!”

            All eyes turn to Sam and Jess, each blushing furiously for having spoken over the other.

            “No?” John asks.

            “Well, I – uh… I have one more present to give,” Sam says, glancing at Jess, “If you will –“

            “Are you sure?” Jess asks, “I mean, I also have a gift, too –“

            “You do?”

            “But if you want to give yours –“

            “No, I’d rather wait, you can go –“

            “Mine, I think, would be better opened up last –“

            “Please, Jess, you go first –“

            “For the love of all that is holy,” Jo shouts, “Just exchange the damned gifts already!” The two lovebirds hasten to throw their respective boxes at the other. Jess catches the small, square-ish box, while Sam fumbles his oblong one. They smile at each other, furiously trying to avoid eye contact.

            “Um, Jess… you can open mine,” Sam says, “I’d rather… while it’s all in my head.”

            Castiel watches the blonde nod meekly, peeling away the paper – revealing a velvet box under the festive wrappings. In the meantime, Sam slips off from his seat and kneels beside her, to the gasps of the family around. Castiel’s eyes widen, icy dread piercing his stomach like a falling icicle. 

            “Jessica Moore,” Sam says, pulling at the top to fully reveal the princess cut engagement ring inside. She chokes back a water sob, her grin shaking. “I love you so much, from that fateful day we met back at Stanford. I never meant to walk into your art history class, apologize for being late, then leaving halfway through because I realized I was in the wrong class. But I’ll never regret seeing you on the quad after, you stopping me, handing me back my laptop after I forgot it in my embarrassment. You were my friend long before you were the love of my life, and I’m glad you can be both… and maybe a third thing? My wife… Jessica Moore-Winchester? Would you do me the honor?”

            Castiel hazards glances around the room, taking in the expressions of every one. Even Bobby, someone he’s only seen show three emotions the entirety of the trip, looks fit to burst from tears. Dean’s own watery smile has Castiel’s heart beating a rapid pace. He should be thankful that it seems the distraction he was hoping for has come, but can’t help but curse the younger Winchester’s timing.

            Because Castiel can’t help but feel he’s tainting the moment – just by watching. These pure expressions of love, family, and joy should be shared with those who will forever be in your life – not someone picked up from a bar for a job.

            He was content to share in a family holiday – nothing more, nothing that would make him feel like he belongs more than he really does.

            After a continued silence, Sam can’t keep the smile on his face. He frowns, “Jess?”

            She laughs, “I… I can’t be just your wife, Sam.”

            “ _What?_ ”

            “Open my present,” she tells him, “It’ll make sense.”

            Unlike Sam’s gift, all he has to do is remove the bow and open the cover. He gasps, lifting the little pink-and-white stick out from its box.

            Castiel groans silently, ‘ _This cannot be happening_.’

            “You… you mean…?”

            Jess nods, furiously. “I’ll be your friend, your love… your _wife_ … and the mother of our _child_. Little baby Moore-Winchester.” Sam sweeps her up into a strong hug, the pair giggling to the delight of the crowd. There’s clapping, hollering, whistles, and Cas makes out an amused Jo whispering to Mick “He does know he’s holding the _pee_ end right?”

            All in all, it’s a picturesque heart-warming moment.

            If only Castiel’s chest wasn’t thrown into the Artic Ocean. 

* * *

            “Get out!”

            Charlie whacks Dean with her purse, the other man pathetically defending himself with the nearest shield – unfortunately, his baking pan.

            “Hey, hey! Cool it!” Dean cries, “It’s not my fault you missed it! I told you when to get here!”

            “But you didn’t record it!”

            “Wouldn’t have had to if you arrived on time,” he says, hitting her with the pan, “What did you do? Oversleep?”

            She pauses her onslaught, the question jamming the inner mechanisms of her mind. Instead of answer, she blushes and drops her weapon. Dean, intrigued, places the pan back onto his counter and leans back. “Charles,” he asks, “What happened?”

            “Who said anything happened?”

            “The tomato that ate my friend,” he chuckles, “Seriously – you’re horrible at trying to act coy. Your face gets as red as your hair.”

            “It’s not my fault I was cursed with such awesome hair,” she scowls, turning away, “But since you asked… fine! I was…” the last part drops off, mumbled.

            “ _Charlie_.”

            “Okay! Okay, fine!” she groans, sagging, “You beat it out of me – damn you and your Jedi mind tricks – “

            “Enough stalling,” Dean says, eyes rolling, “Get on with it.”

            “I hooked up with the chick I told you about the other day,” Charlie rushes out, unable to meet Dean’s gaze, “After I left here last night.”

            “No foolin’?”

            “ _Yeah_ ,” Charlie nods, “Like… after the party, I thought I might kill some time at a bar or two – wasn’t tired. So I’m in this really great place, drinking, when a guy tries to flirt his way into my pants. Three beers and several hints that I’m not straight later, he’s leaning on me trying to cop a feel. Then, like out of a Bon Jovi video, she knocks into him and spills her entire drink on his lap. It's like she knows when to pour glasses on people when I'm around. I thought there was going to be a fight – the doofus looked _peeved_ off. Worse than when you and I were at Comic-Con years ago, and that ‘fan’ asked William Shatner a really inappropriate question –“

            “That angry?”

            “Yep,” she says, “But before he can do anything, she leans in close and whispers into his ear. Sends him _running_.”

            “What did she say?”

            “I don’t know,” Charlie gushes, smiling, “But I think it had something to do with the switchblade she folded back into her pocket. After that, of course I had to buy her a drink. I was a little surprised that we'd run into each other again, so soon. But one thing led to another and… let’s just say your girl got several presents this Christmas.”

            Dean screws his face up, “TMI, Charlie. Gross. You could have stopped at the switchblade.”

            “Oh please,” Charlie waves him off, “You love lesbian sex.”

            “Not when it involves you, my pseudo-sibling,” Dean ruffles her hair, “Did you get her name and number this time?”

            “I got the number, but not the name _exactly_ ,” Charlie sighs, “She slipped it into my pocket as I was leaving – hey, you don’t think Cas happens to know an M. Masters does he?”

            Dean freezes at the mention of Cas, the thoughts from earlier today he had forced to the back of his mind now once again front and center. They’d been buzzing around all day, like mosquitos, stinging him when he wasn’t prepared and leaving him with itchy scars in his heart. Escaping to the kitchen was supposed to help staunch the flow of blue puppy-dog eyes and world-weary smiles. Charlie burst right through his emotional dam.

            “I’m not sure,” he starts, turning his back to her, “Why would you ask?”

            “Because I noticed a police badge in her apartment,” Charlie tells him, “Although, that’s pretty presumptuous of me. I’m sure not all cops know each other.”

            “Yeah, maybe,” Dean says, hands looking for something to do. He can feel Charlie’s eyes on him, and tries to find anything. His façade isn’t helped when he grabs the two closest things nearest to him – an orange and a rolling pin.

            “What are you gonna do with that?”

            Dean considers the two items, “Make… juice?”

            She sighs, grabbing the stuff out of his hold and forcing his face towards hers. “I spilled,” she starts, “Now you spill. What’s up?”

            “It’s… nothin’, really…”

            “ _Dean_.”

            He sighs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Okay,” he relents, “Let’s just say… you weren’t the only one warming the bed with a cop.”

            “You _slut_ ,” Charlie whisper-shrieks, punching him fiercely on the bicep, “And on Christmas Eve!”

            “Hey – ow!” Dean yelps, rubbing the tender spot, “We didn’t do anything like that. Just… _slept_. Although…” he frowns, the morning coming back to him in great detail, “We had a good distance between us when we went to sleep.”

            “But…?”

            “When I woke up,” Dean continues, smiling, “He had his arms around me.”

            “I always knew you were a little spoon.”

            “Shuddup,” Dean blushes, carrying on, “Anyway… it was nice. I got to watch him sleep for a bit – he talks, well… more like mumbles – anyway, that was until I _felt_ his… _you know_. I reacted, he woke up… _he_ reacted.”

            “How did he react?”

            “He ran and hid in my bathroom,” Dean sighs, “I think I messed up, Charlie.”

            “Well that’s not good.”

            “You’re telling me!” he winces, checking behind to make sure no one in the other room had heard. “You’re telling me,” he repeats, whispering, “Since then, he’s been keeping distance, responding with one or two words and – and I can’t even get him to look me in the _eyes_! I _ruined_ it.”

            “Dean, you didn’t ruin anything,”

            “Didn’t I though?” Dean barks out an empty laugh, tugging at his hair, “You told me to feel things out and I did – I… I _tried_. I really thought there was… there was something there. B – b – but maybe I was wrong… wrong about this and _wrong_ to even do this stupid stunt. He just wanted to not be alone for the holidays and,” he sniffs, a tear trailing down his cheek, “And I’ve wrecked _that_ for him. Ruined it… Ruined _everything_.”

            “Hey, hey, hey, shh shh Dean, calm down,” Charlie gathers him into her arms, rubbing smooth circles into his back, “Come on, match my breathing… that’s it – in and out, there we go.” His breaths may be a tad more watery than Charlie’s, but Dean manages to gather enough of himself to stop freaking out.

            “That’s right, don’t need a panic attack on Christmas,” she hums, pulling away, “Now while you’re cooling down, I’m gonna say a little something. Okay?” Charlie waits for Dean’s nod before continuing, “ _You_ did not ruin _anything_. The only thing you’re doing is letting your anxiety get the better of you… _again_. Come on, this morning was not the end of the world. I’m sure if you and Cas sit down you’ll see that… I don’t know, maybe Cas was embarrassed or something. You’ll never know if you don’t talk to him though.”

            “…Yeah,” Dean whispers, clearing his throat, “Yeah… you’re right.”

            “Of course I’m right,” she says, smiling, “Now, you’ve got family to entertain. Go fix yourself up so it _doesn’t_ look like you’ve been crying about your fake-boyfriend crush problem.” Charlie squeezes him once more before bouncing back out into the living room.

            ‘ _If only it were that easy, Charlie_ ,’ Dean thinks, wiping away the tear tracks, ‘ _If only…_ ’

* * *

             “How’s the view down there?”

            Castiel startles, leaning away from the window to blink down at Mary Winchester. She deepens her smile, sidling up closer next to him. Peeking over the edge, she scoffs at the sight. “So much damned snow,” she sighs, taking a sip of her drink, “Wonder how anyone here does anything with how much you get during winter.”

            “We hustle our way through it,” Castiel tells her, “If we don’t, we’d die. Or worse… get _fired_.”

            Mary snorts into her drink. “I heard you were whip-crack,” she says, “Glad to see you’re not distracted enough to humor an old woman like me.”

            “Distracted?” Cas asks, posture tensing, “What do you mean?”

            “I think you’re smart enough to know what I’m talking about, Castiel,” Mary says, peering back down at the darkening skyline, “But if it’ll help… I can explain. You and Dean… both of you have been a bit – well, _reserved_.” She glances at him from the corner of her eye, “I’m used to Dean acting that way, hiding out in the kitchen more often. But this trip he’s been so bubbly and energetic and, well – I have you to thank for that, don’t I?”

            “I’m… not sure I understand?”

            “Dean’s always kept to himself. Always preferred being quiet, kept to himself… which, when dealing with a rambunctious bug like Sam, was a blessing in the first few years. But when he wasn’t being invited to birthday parties or sleepovers… that’s when I started to worry. No mother likes to see her child grow up alone – and maybe I like to smother, but it’s in the name! There were very few times I saw Dean with this… really bright grin on his face. When he was hard at work fixing up his car… when he sent us a video of his first lecture…”

            “Once was when my parents bought tickets for us to go see a traveling ballet troupe out in Topeka. Bobby had come down with the flu so he and Ellen couldn’t make it. Instead of wasting two tickets, we brought the boys with us. I never saw Dean so captivated by something… a few days later I caught him in his room flinging himself with his toes pointed and everything. We went over to a nearby dance studio and I signed him up for classes.”

            “I heard Dean danced a bit when he was younger,” Castiel admits, “Although it didn’t… end well.”

            “He could have been great,” Mary sighs, “It was really helping with his self-esteem. There were days I couldn’t get a word in because he kept going on about what went on in class. His teacher was very proud of him, put him in the lead at every recital –remind me to send you a few pictures… Anyway, maybe a week after his last performance, he comes home with his ballet flats in tatters, a black eye, and says he’s not dancing anymore. I ask him why and he says, ‘Because no one likes a sissy…’ He… he changed after that. Started carrying around a shell he’d wear all the time. Didn’t show much joy or excitement about anything and if he did got right tomato-faced. High school though, that act will get you everywhere – except in the grades department. It took everything we had to encourage him, telling him he had it in him to go the extra mile. Thankfully college and Charlie helped him a little bit…”

            “But you,” she turns to him, misty-eyed, “You bring back that little kid who liked to twirl about on stage. I’m really grateful that you and Dean bumped paths. Not what I expected – but who doesn’t love a good surprise. That’s what keeps life interesting, right Cas?”

            “R – right,” Cas mutters, swallowing the frustrated scream clawing at the base of his throat. A terror squeezes at his heart, shredding into it like sharpened blades.

            “So you and him, there’s no need to worry,” she pats his arm, “We all really like you – getting nervous now would just be pointless.”

            “Worried?”

            “Family holidays bring on all sorts of jitters,” Mary says, “And, honestly, you’ve been so good these past few days we thought it would be the same. But again, never expect the unexpected. You’re just full of that, aren’t you?”

            ‘ _More than you can believe_.’

            “It’s not fair you get all the twists,” she says, pulling something from the pocket of her jeans, “So here – one from all of us, to you.”

            “I – I don’t,” Cas stares at the small box, hand twitching at his side, wanting to push it back, “You didn’t have –“

            “Of course we did,” she says, “And we _wanted_. You gave us a good scare – one day to find a present? But day before Christmas Eve, Sam takes us over to this little occult shop that he wanted to check out – he’s big on all that… _supernatural_ stuff and, well… thought this might be nice for you to have.”

            Castiel unwraps the small present, revealing a pendant chained to a simple cord. The tiny metal is shaped in a star wrapped in a wheel of flames.

            “It’s like a pentagram,” Mary explains, “We call it a… anti-possession symbol. Now – before you think we’re a bunch of cultists – let me just explain that it means a lot to us. Sort of became the… Winchester seal or, or coat-of-arms, in a way. John’s father, Henry was interested in the occult just as much as Sam is now. Only he was just as invested in the _drink_. When Henry passed away early due to liver disease, John got in a funk. Going through his dad’s stuff, he found that symbol and read what it was about. Immediately, he went to get it tattooed on his chest – so the demons that possessed his father would never do the same to him. When Sam turned eighteen, he and Dean got similar tattoos on their chests, and Jo has hers on her hip. We all have something like it – Mick and Jess do as well. I thought, seeing how close you two are… it’s only fitting you get yourself one as well.”

            “I –uh… I don’t know what to say.” Castiel does, however. He should say that the Winchesters are the most generous and welcoming family he’s ever met, and puts his entire childhood to shame. That this gesture means nothing if Castiel will just be leaving it behind the day after New Year’s. That he doesn’t deserve their gift or their kindness.

            That Castiel doesn’t deserve _Dean_.

            “You don’t have to say anything,” Mary chuckles, patting his arm, “Just put it on.”

            He does. With trembling hands, he takes the necklace out. Handing Mary his drink, he fumbles a few times before locking the little clasp in place.

            “There,” Mary smiles, “Now how does that feel?”

           ‘ _Like a noose_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this got super emotional really fast - and this was supposed to be 'filler'.


	12. Cuffed to Run-Ins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! So we're in the home stretch here, with only a few more chapters after this until it's done!
> 
> But until then, enjoy!

            Dean pulls the blanket tighter around his waist, grumbling under breath about the shoddy heater. Even covered with soft fabric and surrounded by fluffy pillows, the chill bites its way into his skin. His next move would be to put something _heavier_ on, but he can’t find it within him to remove the light blue button down.

            _‘Cas’s shirt_ ,’ Dean thinks, fingering the buttons, ‘ _That he left… after **sprinting** out my door_.’ The dour train of thought only pushes him deeper into an emotional cold front.

            His blue-eyed beau hasn’t called since then – or texted… or even freakin’ send messenger pigeon! All lines of communication had been shut down from Christmas on. Dean can’t place all the blame on him though. He could easily leave his apartment and go into the city, demand Cas give him some answers. But that would mean exiting the safety of his cocoon.

            He can deal with not knowing… for now.

            It’s not like he doesn’t have an idea of what the problem is. But those memories only serve to twist the knife further into his heart.

            ‘ _Alright, text me when you get back to your hotel,’ Dean calls out to his family’s retreating figures, ‘And Jess, be careful! It’s very icy out there!” He laughs, closing the door and leaning against it. His limbs are heavy, the adrenaline of the day fading like smoke from a dwindling fire leaving him fun-drunk._

_Dean pushes himself off, stumbling over discarded plates and torn paper and into the kitchen. Inside, the last guest hides – buried inside the fridge. Cas steps out, a frown marring his beautiful features._

_Acting on instinct, Dean moves into the other man’s space and wraps his arms around Cas’s waist, resting his head against Cas’s. He stiffens under Dean’s hold._

_“Dean?” Cas startles, “What are you –“_

_“Shh,” he murmurs, rocking them back and forth, “No words. Too tired for ‘em. Let’s just… **sway**.” Cas quiets, letting Dean push and pull him like the tide, further away from the fridge and into the middle of the kitchen. Dean hums a soft melody, nuzzling into Cas’s hair._

_“Dean,” Cas tries again, twisting within Dean’s loose grip, “Don’t you think we should –“_

_“Hey,” Dean cuts him off, eyes fixed to the silver pendant around Cas’s neck, “Where’d you get that?”_

_“Oh – um, this?” Cas trails his gaze away from Dean and to his jewelry, playing with it anxiously, “Your – uh… your mother gave it to me?”_

_“It’s our symbol,” Dean whispers, amazed. His mind connects Cas’s words, and he whips his head up so fast he’s sure there must have been a **crack**. “Ma gave it to you?” he repeats back, “She… that’s **our** symbol…”_

_“Yes she… she informed me as such…” Cas’s lips turns down, as if the words leave a bad taste in his mouth. The sight frightens Dean – as if the muscles in Cas’s face have the answers to all the questions he dreads answers to. Instead he chooses a more familiar route: distraction._

_“I think it suits you,” Dean says, forcing a smile, “It’s a really nice gift – too bad we didn’t think of having you get **them** gifts. But they appreciated **our** gifts…” They’re still swaying, Dean moving them closer and closer towards the archway. “Oh… look where we are?” he chuckles, “This tricky thing… almost forgot about…” They stare into each other’s eyes. He shrugs, “I mean… since we’re under…” Leaning in, Dean lets his lids fall shut, expecting familiar, smooth lips. Instead, the rough patch of stubble growing on the side of Cas’s face greets him._

_“Thank you for inviting me tonight, Dean,” Cas rushes, unable to look at him. Dean’s entire face sags with disappointment, watching the other man step back. “Your family was very – they were fun. Until the next,” he checks his hip on the counter, “next time. I should really – I mean before the snow and, like last night – I mean… bye.”_

_Dean watches the door slam shut behind him._

            The mistletoe doesn’t dangle from the archway any more. Instead, it’s trashed alongside any hope he had for the future: _their_ future. All that’s left inside him is a gaping hole where his heart used to be, trailing after Cas as he flew out the door.

            At least he got a shirt for all his trouble.

            He snorts, wiping at tears pooling around his eyes. Dean tries to focus on anything else – but there’s nothing on the TV and for _once_ his family isn’t climbing at the walls to spend time with him. Instead, they all have their own little activities planned. The offer was there to join them – for him _and Cas_ to join them. But Dean had to decline, feigning other plans with friends that didn’t exist.

            So it’s just him and Lifetime – touting lies about the miracle of holidays and love.

            That is, until his phone rings. He doesn’t know whether to answer or leave it to voicemail. His indecision, ironically, makes the choice for him. If only the person at the other end wasn’t persistent.

            “Alright, alright,” he sighs, reaching over towards the coffee table for the device, answering, “Hello?”

            “Dean!” Charlie chirps brightly on the other side, “My plucky handmaiden, Kirk to my McCoy, my moon and my stars –“

            “What do you want, Bradbury?”

            “Well, I was wondering… y’know that restaurant we’re going to later?”

            ‘ _Restaurant?’_ “What?”

            “Y’know… the one your mom told you about, where she made reservations?”

            ‘ _Shit, I forgot_.’ “Oh, right… _that_ restaurant. What about it?”

            “Remember that girl I was telling you about at Christmas?”

            Dean tries, but not much comes to mind. “Of course, what about her?”

            “Wanted to make sure it was okay if I brought her with me tonight? With everyone paired off… y’know, makes me feel less alone.”

            “I don’t see why that would be a problem, Charlie.”

            “Well, reservations for one,” she says, “But also… like, would Cas be uncomfortable if she came? I mean, them both being police? Would that make it… weird?”

            “Nah,” Dean frowns, “Probably make it _easier_ for him.”

            “What?” Charlie asks, “Dean, what are you –“

            “I gotta go, Charles,” Dean cuts her off, “There’s a… disturbance – in the Force.”

            “Dean Winchester you are a horrible li –“ He presses ‘end’.

            He curses to himself, letting his phone fall between the cracks of his pillows. It all comes back to him, Mary’s plans for the evening. She wanted a nice night of dinner at a fancy restaurant, and had made the reservations herself. At this little bistro Uptown called “The Mark”. Dean had tried to coax her out of it, but her mind was set on this place.

            So now he has to scramble together a nice outfit and out of this funk before facing his family once more.

            And… Cas.

            ‘ _Shit, wonder if he knows_.’

            Dean doesn’t waste time digging for the device, firing off a quick message to the other man. It’d be awkward if Cas didn’t show up, and Dean doesn’t think he’d have it in him to lie to everyone if that happened. He leaves the phone in the other room as he goes off into his bedroom,

            ‘ _Not like I’m expecting a response_.’ 

* * *

             _Dinner plans with the fam. The Mark @ 7. Dress nice, meet around the corner so we can show up together._

            Castiel is stressed. Not from Christmas, when he almost allowed himself to fall into the fantasy of Dean, and then ripping it all away with his cowardice. Nor was it from the messages the other man had been hounding him with – each growing more and more impersonal as time went on.

            No, his worry came from the place Mary Winchester made the reservation for dinner tonight. ‘The Mark’, a bistro frequented by many of New York’s high society.

            By most – if not all – of his _family_.

            The DiAngelo’s have been a staple at ‘The Mark’, having their own table reserved on the occasion one of them decides to dine there. His aunt invested heavily into the restaurant, and the chef and his wife have both served _and_ dined at his family’s brownstone. Castiel had always liked them. So to say he’s nervous would be a _vast_ understatement. He’s on guard, his blue suit akin to armor with how he holds himself. Castiel’s senses are heightened, wary of any familiar face that might stare _too_ long at him.

            Dean finds him pressed behind a row of bushes.

            “Cas?” he asks, “You alright there, man?”

            “What – oh, yes I was just… _waiting_ ,” he grimaces, “loitering like anyone else would.”

            “You sure?” Dean tries once more, looking to his right, “I can tell my folks you weren’t feeling well and –“

            “No!” Castiel stops him, grabbing for his hand, “No, I don’t – please, it’s nothing. I promise.” There’s only a few more times Castiel can let himself have Dean like this – before it all falls apart. He won’t let his family get in the way of these last moments with Dean.

            The other man blushes, and gapes wide-eyed at their hands. Castiel gnaws at his lip, worry bubbling underneath. “Hey,” Castiel tilts Dean’s face up, forcing the other man to look at him, “Is this alright? If _you_ don’t want to –“

            “No, I do,” Dean wheezes out, “I… I missed you – them. Seeing everyone… together. Forgot how much I missed big holiday celebrations.”

            ‘ _I never knew how great they could be, before you_ ,’ Castiel thinks, smiling. He squeezes Dean’s hand once before stepping out from the shadows. Shakily, he leads the two of them around the corner. “We don’t want to be late – this place are sticklers about their reservations.”

            “And you would know this how?” Dean asks, “You been here before?”

            “Yes,” Cas says, “I could tell you about it, but I wouldn’t want to ruin your evening.” He’s as honest as he can be for the evening that’ll be filled with lies. They’ve already started out by holding hands – an act that should fill his chest with butterflies but only serves to remind him that he can touch all he wants, but Dean will never be his.

            The Winchester clan waits outside. Jess spots them first, waving them over to their large party. Each of them is dressed nicely, but still true to their own style. He’s not sure if Bobby will be allowed to keep his hat, but it would be exciting to see.

            “We were wondering when you’d show up,” Sam needles, “Scared we would lose the reservation. Now all we need is Charlie and –“

            “I’m here bitches, no need to worry!”

            Charlie skips up to them in a shocking yellow dress and converse, throwing herself between Jo and Mick. She giggles as she pulls them into a hug.

            “Where were you?” Jo asks, “We almost went in!”

            “Was waiting on someone,” she tells them, blushing, “Everyone – I hope you don’t mind but I brought a date!”

            “Now Charlie,” Mary laughs, “I hope you don’t think _that_ badly of us –“

            “No, no, Mary,” Charlie says, “Just rounding out the numbers. Eleven is such an awkward number… I’m sure they’ll be able to seat twelve just as easily!”

            “Maybe, but maybe not,” Castiel sighs, “Charlie, I don’t think this place will take kindly to surprises –“

            “Aww lighten up Clarence, will ya?”

            Castiel freezes, the familiar voice sending shivers up his spine like nails across the chalkboard. From behind Charlie, Meg appears like from smoke. Her deeply cut purple dress fits snug across her body, topped off perfectly by a leather jacket.

            “Clarence?” Dean asks, sidling up beside him, “Cas, you know her?”

            “Know her?” Meg laughs, “I’m his best friend!”

            “No, she is – I mean… this is, um – Meg,” Castiel introduces, “She’s my _partner_ on the force and…” He stalks forward, gripping her arm and dragging her away, “If you’ll excuse us.”

            “Hey!” Meg protests, following him three storefronts away behind a bus shelter, “Where do you get off, huh?”

            “Meg,” Castiel starts, “What are you doing here?”

            “What I was doing _Cas_ was getting ready to eat,” she smirks, “if you must know I was invited to tonight’s little _soirée_.”

            “You –“

            “What’s going on here?”

            Dean and Charlie join their respective dates, Dean rubbing smooth circles into Castiel’s back while Charlie suspiciously glares at Meg. The brunette winks flirtatiously at her.

            “My apologies Dean, Charlie,” Castiel starts, “Meg can be a bit… _obsessive_ in her pursuits. I should have been more cautious.”

            “Cautious, about what?” Dean raises a brow, “No crime in having a friend or two, right?”

            “Except Castiel here doesn’t _have_ any friends, as he likes to remind me so many times,” Meg adds, smirking, “Which is why before he left for ‘ _vacation_ ’ – something he rarely does, just fyi – I decided to look into what was making him act all _funny_. So imagine _my_ surprise when I see not only is he actually celebrating the holidays, but he’s doing it with a _boyfriend_.” Her façade slips, and Castiel gets a peek at the storm underneath her expression. “I’m hurt – truly, Clarence.”

            The angry tirade he had cocked and ready to fire gets stuck in his throat. He’s saved from responding, thankfully, by Charlie.

            “So this was just a set-up?” she asks, “You _used_ me?”

            “I wouldn’t so much as say ‘used’ darlin’,” Meg slips back into her ‘cool’ persona, “We had fun… I just saw an opportunity present itself.” She winks once more, “Wouldn’t mind seeing it happen again.”

            “Excuse me?”

            “I like you,” Meg explains, “Finding out what my partner here was doing was the mission, and you were a little extra on the side. I didn’t _have_ to go home with you… but I did anyway. Consider yourself lucky.”

            “That is just – you’re so…” Charlie glances between all three of them, “Ugh!” She throws her hands in the air, stalking away, “If you think you’re going home with me, you have another thing coming!”

            Dean casts a look at Castiel, one that doesn’t bode well once they’re alone. He follows his friend into ‘The Mark’, trailing right after her.

            “Don’t worry,” Meg says to him, “I’ll patch things up. Then maybe one day we can all go on a double date –“

            “Meg, it’s not what you think?”

            “Oh really?” Meg smirks, “You mean you _aren’t_ banging the Brawny paper-towel man come to life?”

            “It’s – it’s complicated –“

            “Then un-complicate it for me.”

            “Really, Meg, it would be best if you just leave.”

            “No, Castiel.”

            “Meg, please –“

            “I said _no!_ ” she fumes, glaring at him. Castiel steps back in stunned silence, not used to seeing her express such raw emotion. “I am sick of this bullshit. You treat me like a nuisance– pushing me away, giving me the silent treatment, always telling me that I’m _not_ your best friend. Newsflash, idiot – have you ever considered that maybe _you_ were _my_ best friend?”

            Castiel says nothing, ashamed to admit the thought never crossed his mind.

            “You’re the person who’s been by my side the longest, Castiel,” Meg laughs, warbled by the sob she’s keeping trapped within, “Every other partner I had never stuck around for long. They always wanted a transfer – for one reason or another. The truth was they couldn’t _stand_ me. I wasn’t a stranger to being rejected: from middle school onward I was always either picked last or never. Hell, sometimes I was just picked _on_. But you… you were the first person I was ever partnered with who didn’t want to leave. No matter how many times I pushed or… or pulled on your pigtails, you stuck it out with me. I thought, ‘maybe he’s just like me’ – I heard from others that your partners requested transfers, too. That maybe this was it – this could be someone I can hang around with in and out of work. Sure, you were a tough nut to crack… but I love a challenge.”

            Meg kicks at the ground, hands slipping into her jacket. She looks like a child, her constant bravado stopped up and nowhere to be seen. Castiel’s heart aches.

            “I figured what a victory it would be to win you over… to be your first friend just like you were mine. And to see you here acting all buddy-buddy with these people… I’ve never felt as alone as I do now. Because at least before I never knew what it was like to not be, y’know?”

            “I… I do,” Castiel ekes out, “Meg I’m… I never once considered your feelings and for that I’m sorry.” He pauses, searching for the right olive branch, “When I was younger… my family would always call me obstinate.”

            Meg screws her eyebrows tight, “Really? What’s that?”

            “It’s another word for stubborn,” Castiel laughs, “They called me that after I refused dinner because my father called the cook nasty words. And after I shut myself in during my tenth birthday party because I wanted a horse cake and my mother demanded a plain chocolate one. Especially after…” he trails off, “Look, I’m not saying that your feelings are just one in a long list of those I’ve ignored. But hurting yours is something I truly feel guilty about. I never meant to… I just couldn’t believe you’d want to be my friend. I always assumed you were kidding or – or pulling one over on me. I’ve been alone a lot my life, too. And I truly believed I was going to be alone. That I was broken… and no one wants broken things.”

            “I wouldn’t say that,” Meg snorts, “Seems like your guy in there _likes_ broken toys.”

            “Yes well,” Cas sighs, “trust me, if you knew the full story, you would be saying something else.”

            “So why don’t you tell me?”

            She looks hopeful, and Castiel feels a lightness that’s been missing in recent days: an eye in the thunderclouds that have taken hold. He smiles, “I’d like that.” 

* * *

            Dinner isn’t so awkward.

            Okay, it might have been at first. Before Charlie and he had made it to the table, Dean had to console her for five minutes in the ladies’ room. And when they finally joined everyone, they had to answer the questions as best they could. Which means – not truthfully at all. Dean and Charlie spun an elaborate story about the two, neither knowing the other was dating best friends. Charlie had wanted to tell the truth, but Dean knew that if it let slip who Meg was and what she was really after – it would cause the wobbly Jenga Tower that was his and Cas’s relationship to come crumbling down.

            The family was sold, but unfortunately it meant Charlie had to play buddy-buddy with Meg when they rejoined.

            ‘ _God she’s good_ ,’ Dean thinks, watching her share a dessert with the brunette, feeding her a piece of chocolate lava cake. Charlie catches his eye and Dean can see lightning bounce inside, foreshadowing the suffering he’ll be in for once the curtains close.

            “Dean?” Cas pulls him back in, “Are you enjoying the tiramisu?”

            “What?” he blinks, looking down at his messy plate, “Oh uh… I guess I wasn’t really paying attention… angel?”

            They’re wrapped up in each other; chairs scooted as close as they can be. Cas has his arm thrown over Dean’s shoulder, and Dean’s hand has a vice-like grip on the other man’s thigh.

            “They really do make excellent tiramisu, here,” Cas smiles fondly, playing with the remains a bit, “I had forgotten how much I enjoyed it.” It feels like Cas is tugging at a loose thread in his past. And if Dean reaches for it, he could unravel a bit more of his mystery. Like how he knows the chef by name, enough for him to come over and say hi.

            Cain was a bit intimidating, but once he saw Cas it turned out he was nothing more than a big teddy bear. He couldn’t stay for long, however what he said to him made a great impact.

            “What was that all about?” Dean asked quietly when the others were distracted ordering.

            “He asked what I’d been up to and said it was nice to see me,” Cas had said, “I didn’t think that was possible.”

            Dean wanted to inquire further about what he’d meant, but the waiter made it to him before he could continue investigating. And now, finishing up dinner, the only thing not sated was his appetite for answers.

            Except he’s not sure Cas will be as forthcoming with answers. If only there was a way to get answers about his ‘boyfriend’s’ past without him having to do it.

            “Well, well, well… do my eyes deceive me? It can’t be…”

            Cas stiffens beside him, dropping his fork to the plate with a _clang_! While Dean turns his gaze to Cas, everyone else looks behind them. Sam sits up straight on the other side of Dean, eyes wide. He whacks at Dean, forcing him away from Cas to the uninvited guest.

            Instantly, Dean doesn’t like him. His grey-blue eyes look down at them, as hard as ice. He has an air about him that screams how ‘little’ and ‘pathetic’ he thinks of everyone he talks to. His hands are tucked away into his pockets, and he has a pale, waif of a woman hanging off his arm. Her straw-like blonde hair is pulled into a tight bun. And like her partner, her eyes also have a cruel detachment.

            “Why it is!” he continues, “Cassie! It’s been ages!”

            Cas turns, normally tan face blanching at the sight of the other man. “Luke… what are – what are you doing here?”

            “Enjoying dinner of course!” the guy – _Luke_ – says, “And just as we were about to leave, what do I overhear except Cain telling Colette what a joy it was to see the _youngest DiAngelo_ again. I couldn’t believe you’d be brave enough to step in here after… well, we _all_ remember.”

            “Cas,” Dean turns to him, “Who is this fu… guy?”

            “Cas?” Luke parrots, the word sounding just _wrong_ coming from him, “You mean you haven’t talked about me? Wounded, I am – I thought I was your _favorite_ sibling!”

            “Dean,” Sam leans in, whispering, “That’s Luke DiAngelo? Famous lawyer? Of the _DiAngelo_ family? Y’know… one of them is a _Representative?_ ” It clicks in Dean’s mind, remembering seeing Michael DiAngelo’s face plastered all over the city after he won his re-election. The only guy who could make him vote Republican – seeing as he was Democrat in name only. How he got re-elected made no sense to Dean, but money makes all your problems disappear apparently.

            Maybe he should ask Cas, seeing as he would know more about money than Dean.

            “Cas?” Luke says again, “Mind introducing me to your… _friends_?”

            All eyes turn to Cas. He’s frozen, shrinking into himself. At some point his arm slipped away from Dean’s shoulders, and he’s slightly hunched over. Dean can feel him shaking, see how fast his chest rises and falls. He knows what’s coming, and does what he can to help.

            By pulling all the attention onto him – his _least_ favorite thing to do.

            “I’m Dean, Cas’s boyfriend,” Dean stands, hand up and ready to shake, “And yeah, he’s never really mentioned you. Which, I’m not really surprised – we only talk about the _important_ things.”

            His professional mask of indifference slips for a brief moment, and Dean can see anger flicker. However, like a failing lighter, it disappears, and Dean’s palm is captured in a sweaty, strong grip.

            “Pleasure to meet you,” Luke purrs, squeezing too tight for it to be comfortable, “I must say it’s nice to see Cassie finally seeing someone. Figured he’d wind up an old spinster one day. Never wants to go out… come to our parties –“

            “Well I’m sure he must have good reason.”

            “Does he?” Lucifer turns a wicked grin to his brother, “Cassie, what’s your reason for not coming to our party tomorrow? You know we haven’t seen you in _ages_.”

            “I – um… well –“

            “You mean you haven’t got our RSVP?” Dean asks, instinct once again leading him blind, he _tsks_ , “Just like the United States Post Office…”

            “An RSVP? Well now isn’t this interesting…” Luke looks between the two, “Splendid then! I’ll let everyone know – we’ll be expecting you: _both_ of you. And you wouldn’t want to disappoint Cassie, even if you are good at it.”

            “Now wait a minute –“

            “We have to be leaving now, though,” Luke pulls away, “We’ll catch up tomorrow. Goodbye!” The two stalk away, leaving a very frustrated Dean in their wake.

            “What an asshat,” Dean grumbles sitting down, “He’s your brother?” Cas says nothing, staring at him in horror. “Cas?” he tries again, the silence not sitting well with him. In it, his words and actions echo, and Dean realizes just exactly what he signed them up for.

            ‘ _Oh God_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _What have I gotten us into?_ ’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So if that was a taste of what Cas's family was like... you can only imagine how the rest of them are. Tune in next time when we see Dean and Cas enter the Den of the DiAngelos!


	13. Cuffed to Conflict

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus, between work and the DCBB I had a hard time finding time to sit down and focus on this story. But I'm back and will hopefully churn out the rest soon. Especially since there's not many chapters left :)
> 
> Enjoy!

            The DiAngelos are terrifyingly rich – like Freddy Krueger levels of scary. Yesterday night, after he might as well made a deal with the devil himself, Dean did some research; what he found kept him up for half the night.

            The first warning sign of what he’d come to expect was a picture of Cas’s dad Zachariah (‘ _Holy crap, how are they even related?_ ’) smiling and shaking hands with Donald Trump.

            “Yeah, DiAngelo was _forty-five’s_ lawyer back then,” Sam said over the phone, Dean calling him after the startling revelation, “Worked for a long time with the guy who’s on the payroll now… Cohen? But DiAngelo ‘cut ties’ after the whole birth certificate stuff. Probably because it made his son look bad – who knows, who cares? But no one really believes Zach’s kept his hand out of the pot – guy makes so much on ‘consulting’ and his contact list barely breaks double digits.”

            ‘ _No wonder Cas doesn’t like talking about his family_ ,’ Dean thought, scouring the Internet, ‘ _Seems they’re all cut from the same shit-stained cloth – except **my** Cas._ ’ Cas’s mother, Naomi, isn’t without her own sins. Her cold, taciturn appearance outwardly clashes with her husband’s oozing sleaze, and reminds Dean of an old nun who used to teach at his school. And her hobbies stab right at Dean’s bleeding, liberal heart – sitting on the board for charities that are anti-abortion, anti-immigration, and one that has in its website’s ‘About’ section: ‘making sure kids grow up in normal, heterosexual families’.

            He had to shut the laptop lid after that, fearful to read any more. His blood pressure was already starting to rise, and he didn’t even meet them.

            But now, staring up at the DiAngelo townhouse, the only thing he could feel in his veins was ice.

            “Yes, it is impressive,” Cas mutters off-handedly, curling ever inwards into his coat. Dean levels his gape from the building to him.

            “Impressive?” Dean parrots, “Cas… we’re technically in Central Park right now. Do you know how _expensive_ rent must be?” The flat look Cas gives him snuffs out any remaining sense of awe. He clears his throat. “Right,” Dean says, “Of course you do.”

            “Come on,” Cas says, walking up the steps, “Might as well get this over with.”

            “Hey, wait a minute,” Dean reaches forward, stopping his ascent, “You sure you want to do this? You’re not exactly – well… _thrilled_.”

            “Thrilled about what?” Cas chuckles darkly, “Seeing people who I spend the better part of my time trying to forget exist? Whose idea of a good time is talking to people only to whisper behind their backs the second they turn around? I missed it _sooo_ much!” Dean lets go, taking a step back. Cas’s eyes are wide and wild, and he’s breathing heavily.

            Then, as if pricked by a giant needle, he deflates. He pulls himself together, takes a deep breath, and gifts Dean with a remorseful look.

            “I’m sorry,” he starts, “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Just… being here? Reminds me of some – some pretty heavy stuff.”

            “I get it,” Dean says, approaching Cas once more. He grabs for his hand, and counts it a small victory when Cas initiates the finger twining. “Really,” he continues, “If you want to leave, we can. My stupid mouth got you into this – “

            “No, you did what you thought was best in the situation,” Cas tells him, “With all the information you had, which was little since I rarely talked about my family.” He breaks eye contact with Dean and looks towards the door, “And after tonight you’ll see why I plead the fifth every time you brought them up.”

            “Will there be more lawyer talk like that once we get in there?”

            “Definitely,” Cas says, “Anyone who isn’t a lawyer or involved in the government in any way, shape, or form is a black sheep. And there are few and far between.”

            “Well, if it matters,” Dean squeezes Cas hand, “I think black sheep are bad ass.”

            Cas smiles, sending the butterflies in Dean’s stomach into turns and somersaults in their excitement. “Thank you,” Cas says, “For everything.”

            “We’re in this together, Cas,” Dean reminds him, returning the smile, “Now it’s my turn to help with your family.”

            He realizes it’s the wrong thing to say when Cas’s face shutters closed. Dean watches as Cas takes a healthy step back, their fingers the only thing tying them together.

            “Right,” Cas nods, feigning his earlier smile, “Yep. That’s… exactly what this is all about. Looks like you’ll finally be upholding your… end… of the deal.”

            “Cas –“

            The door opens, cutting their moment short, and an obviously tipsy man shouts to them. “Cassie!” he says, the alcohol making his obnoxious British accent less tolerable, “It is you! We thought Luke was just lying like always… but here you are!” He’s blond like Luke, with grey-blue eyes and more creases then a crumpled letter. Dean doesn’t know what’s worse – his smarmy voice or the loose scarf hanging over his neck.

            “Yes, Balthazar, it’s me,” Cas tells him. He turns to Dean, muttering, “My apologies now.” Cas brings them forward, walking into the hallway. “I see you’ve managed to keep your accent even after all these years.”

            “You bloody yanks can have my money but can never take my pride ‘n’ heritage,” Balthazar says, clapping Cas on the back. He sets his eyes on Dean next. “And you must be the boy toy.”

            “Aww, Luke remembered me,” Dean scoffs, placing his hand on his heart, “I’m flattered.”

            “He’s got a serious bite to him,” Balthazar smirks, leaning against Cas to whisper loudly, “You sure know how to pick them Cassie.”

            “Balthazar, please –“

            “Mr. Roche, your presence is required back in the foyer – oh! My apologies, I mustn’t have heard the door.”

            All three look over to where a young woman stands. She’s in a standard maid’s uniform, with a tiny elf hat attached to a headband on her head. Dean notices how, instinctively, she stands with her hands on her stomach, staring at the floor.

            “That’s all right, love,” Balthazar tells her, “Just be a dear and take these blokes coats. Probably roasting in this heat.” She nods, coming over to collect their things.

            “Thank you…” Cas starts, holding onto his coat until she got the hint.

            “Kelly,” she said, tugging the outerwear free and folding it over Dean’s, “Kelly Kline.”

            “Thanks Kelly,” Dean adds, nodding to her smile.

            “So, dear,” Balthazar continues, following her to the nearby closet where she hangs the coats up, “What awaits me in the foyer?”

            “Just your cousin Raphael – he wants to discuss certain antiquities in your next auction.

            Cas moves closer to him, folding an arm across his shoulders. “Balthazar auctions antiques and artworks,” he explains, “Real knowledgeable in the art world.”

            “Another black sheep?” Dean asks him.

            “More like morally grey,” Cas shrugs, “Still keeps in favor with the flock.”

            “Speaking of family,” Balthazar continues, “Where are our dear hosts?”

            “Mr. and Mrs. DiAngelo are in the study with Michael,” Kelly turns to them, hands folded neatly over her stomach, “Is there anything else?”

            “No dear, you go take some needed rest,” Balthazar tells her. He looks to Cas and Dean, “Lovely girl – still so eager to please even when she should be getting ready for her big day.” He points to his own stomach and mimes it ballooning up.

            “Mr. Roche!” Kelly exclaims, blushing, nervously avoiding their curious eyes, “Please… I don’t mind the extra work. Gonna need all the money I can once he’s born…”

            “Uh… congratulations?” Dean tells her, sharing an awkward glance with Cas.

            “Thank you,” Kelly says, grimacing.

            There’s a beat of silence before Balthazar claps. “Alright,” he says, “Might as well get this show going.” Balthazar grabs Cas’s arm and pulls him away, “I’m gonna need to borrow good ol’ Cassie.”

            “Balthazar!” Cas grunts, “What are you –“

            “When your mother and father heard you were coming, they told us whoever saw you first needed to bring you to them,” Balthazar explained, “Wanted a big ol’ reunion with their youngest.”

            “But, Dean –“

            “Will be fine,” Balthazar says, turning to Dean, “If you just enter on your right, you’ll find the party. Have a drink, and I assure you Cassie’ll be brought back out to you with every hair on his messy head in tact.”

            “Balthazar -!”

            Dean tries to follow them, but the other man shuts the hallway door in his face before he could follow. He huffs, banging on the door. “What kind of world did I just step into?”

            The door to the main room remains open. Kelly slipped away, leaving Dean standing alone in the hallway. He steels his nerves, but moves forward to where the most people have congregated.

            It’s not intimidating in the way Dean thought. He figured everyone would be dressed in designer labels, with flutes of fancy alcohol and eating caviar on toast or whatever it was rich people ate. Instead, what freaked him out the most was how he was certain every eye was on him. No matter where he turned, the phantom feeling of being watched followed him. Except these people were artists – and made sure every time Dean tried to look, their eyes were trained on something else.

            “Like a damn freak show for these people…”

            “You get used to it. They’re not fond of new people.”

            Dean startles, rounding on the guy who snuck up on him. He was fairly shorter than him, with whiskey brown eyes and slicked back hair. The guy grinned impishly up at Dean – as well as he could with a candy cane in his mouth.

            “Uh – okay,” Dean said, “And… you are?”

            “I get out of my gilded cage more than these folks that’s for sure,” the guy shrugs, holding a hand out, “Name’s Gabriel.”

            “Dean. I’m with Cas – as his _boyfriend_.”

            “Figured as much,” Gabriel tells him, “Seeing as everyone’s been talking about you two and you don’t look like my cousin, I made an educated guess.”

            “They’re talking about me?”

            “They talk about _everyone_ ,” Gabriel rolls his eyes, “Honestly, you and Cassie are probably the most exciting thing that’s happened to one of these things since the last party Cassie was at.”

            “What happened?”

            “You mean he didn’t tell you?”

            “He doesn’t talk about his family a lot,” Dean says, rubbing at his wrist.

            “Makes sense,” Gabriel says, “Anyway, I’m not gonna spoil it for you. He’ll tell you – it’s a riot. Speaking of, where is he?”

            “Balthazar said something about a family reunion,” Dean explains, “His parents wanted to see him before anyone else.”

            “Smart move,” Gabriel huffs, “Zach and Naomi were always better strategists than they were parents.”

            “Yeah, they seem like the kind of people who weren’t hugged enough in their childhood.”

            “I thought you said Cassie doesn’t talk about his family?”

            Dean shrugs, “I did some research.”

            “Must have been some great resources,” Gabriel laughs, “Because that description seems spot on.”

            “It’s what I do,” Dean starts, “I’m a professor over at NYU – so I kind of have to be good at research. At least enough to make well-inferred guesses from almost little to no source material.”

            “Wait, you teach at NYU?” Gabriel asks, whacking him on the shoulder, “Get out of here!”

            “What?”

            “My pops is a professor over there – oh this is great. Maybe you know him?”

            “I – I probably don’t,” Dean tries as Gabriel drags him through the crowd, “I don’t remember meeting any DiAngelos in my time there.”

            “Pfft, we’re not DiAngelos. My dad’s Naomi’s brother. We’re – hey! Hey, dad!”

            Dean nearly chokes when Gabriel’s dad turns around from talking to a woman around his age - with brown hair and dressed in festive _black_. And judging from Chuck’s own face, he must have had a similar reaction to seeing Dean here.

            “Dean,” Chuck starts, “What are you doing here?”

            “Wait,” Gabriel looks between them, “You _do_ know each other?”

            “Yeah,” Dean nods dumbly, “Chuck’s office is right next to mine. Where the hell have you been, though? We _barely_ saw you this semester.”

            “Well… I’ve been writing my book,” Chuck says, scratching at the back of his head, “I always seem to lose track of time when I write…”

            “Brother, dear, are you just going to prattle on without introducing us to your… _friend_?” the woman he was talking to interrupts, dark eyes scanning Dean like he was a freeze-dried steak on a conveyer belt. He knew what she was thinking, used to those looks from the freshmen that would take his introductory classes. It fired up the ol’ warning signal in his brain.

            “Sorry Amara,” Chuck apologizes, “Dean, this is my twin sister – Amara Shurley –“

            “Pleased to make my acquaintance?” she asks, holding her hand out. Dean shakes it once and drops it.

            “Dean Winchester,” he says, “I teach history over at NYU.”

            “Really? I love history,” Amara says, leaning in, “What’s your area of focus? Ancient civilizations? Medieval and Renaissance?”

            “The American Old West,” Dean babbles, “Specifically cowboys; more specifically _gay_ cowboys. Because I’m _gay_.” He sees the fire of interest sufficiently snuffed in her eyes, but he can’t stop. “You know what they say, find something you love doing and make a career out of it! Too bad I loved the west and being gay so much that I couldn’t choose! Or, in my case, I got lucky – since it overlapped –“

            “How interesting,” Amara smiled tightly, eyes darting to her left, “If you’ll excuse me, Dean, I see someone calling for me.” He waits until the sound of her heels is far enough away before releasing the breath he was holding.

            “Well that was amusing,” Gabriel offers, “Never saw Aunt Amara look so defeated before.”

            “Christmas miracle,” Chuck chuckles. He turns to Dean, “So… you’re gay?”

            “Well, bi,” Dean admits, “Come on, you had to have known!”

            “I don’t make assumptions over course material,” Chuck starts, “But… I did have my hunch…” He shakes his head, “Never mind all that, what are you doing here?”

            Gabriel leans in now, singing, “He’s Cassie’s _daaate_.”

            “Gabriel,” Dean shoves him, throwing the smaller man off balance. Chuck eyes widen even more than before.

            “Castiel’s here?” he asks, whispering, “You mean even after…?”

            “Yep,” Gabriel nods, “Seeing dear ol’ mom and dad now, apparently.”

            “Poor kid,” Chuck frowns, “Figured after the Fourth of July fiasco he’d be free of all the obligations.”

            “If it makes you feel any better,” Dean offers, “He didn’t actually want to come. But we ran into Luke the other day and…”

            “That makes sense,” Gabriel says, “Guy loves making a scene. Surprised he didn’t go into acting with how much he loves _drama_.”

            “Now, Gabriel, that’s no way to speak about your cousin.”

            “You made that joke last year!”

            “That’s different,” Chuck says, “He’s my _nephew_.”

            Dean tunes them out as they argue, taking another look around the crowd. He tries to spot familiar raven hair and blue eyes, but they’re nowhere to be found in the crowd. His thoughts never stray from Cas, however. In fact, they revolve around him. Wondering how he grew into the man he is today given all he must have dealt with growing up. Picturing big eyes staring up at a frowning mother as he asked to be picked up or for a hug or for her to check under the bed for monsters, only to be rebuffed with every request.

            It makes him yearn for the other man even more, just so he doesn’t have to feel alone in his family home – something he’s probably unfortunately familiar with. No matter how tough Dean’s life was growing up, at least he always had his family. Chuck and Gabriel are good people, but they don’t seem like the kind who was always around. Cas grew up with _no one_ in his corner.

            ‘ _And then the Fourth of July_ ,’ Dean thinks, ‘ _What happened there?_ ’

            “Uncle Chuck, Gabriel, it’s so nice seeing you again.”

            Cas slips up in between blinks – sliding through the crowd to stand proudly next to Dean, and arm curled protectively around his waist.

            “Cassie you sure have grown!” Gabriel cheers, glass raised, “I see policing does a body good.”

            “I’m not a policeman anymore,” Castiel corrects, “I’m a _detective_.”

            “Like on the TV! Great!” Gabriel smirks, “Now I can have you make any _evidence_ I might need disappear…”

            “Castiel, please forgive my son. He hasn’t been the same since the tragic accident that rendered him completely stupid,” Chuck interrupts. Dean tucks himself further into Cas’s side, hiding his snort in the other man’s shoulder.

            “And pray tell dad, just what ‘accident’ are you referring to?”

            “The one where you chose ‘architecture’ as your major in college.”

            “You say that now, but were you complaining when I modeled your house upstate? I don’t think so…”

            Cas pulls Dean away, leading him to a small corner of the room where they could stand alone.

            “I’m sorry about before,” Cas tells him, “If I wasn’t frozen in shock, I would have never left you.”

            “It’s okay, I didn’t get into too much trouble,” Dean starts, smiling at Cas, “You never told me your uncle was Chuck Shurley.”

            “I… didn’t think it would matter?”

            “Dude, he’s a professor at NYU. His office is right next to mine,” Dean scoffs, “I got the ice from _his_ mini-fridge when you stumbled into mine all bruised and bloodied.” Cas’s eyes widen at the realization.

            “I… didn’t know you were well-acquainted with any of my family.”

            “That makes the both of us,” Dean says, “From the way you made it out, I thought everyone hated you. What I’ve seen is different.”

            “Because you haven’t seen the worst yet… trust me.” Cas looks down, jaw tensing and breath shuttering. The sight sets his stomach at unease.

            “Hey,” Dean whispers, lifting Cas’s chin up with his finger, “What happened in the study?”

            “…Nothing.”

            “Nothing?”

            “Nothing I wish to repeat,” Cas admits, “Nor desire you to know.”

            “I’m a big boy, Cas, I can handle it.”

            “I know you can,” Cas smirks, “But… just for a little while longer… I don’t want you to handle it. My family… I’ve dealt with them for most of my life – I’m used to them. You… you’re pure – untouched and unblemished by their hate. I _need_ for you to remain this way for a few moments longer.”

            Dean feels his heart swelling out of his chest with warmth and love. Cas’s words have swept him far away from the townhouse, leaving him floating somewhere over the rainbow. Staring into Cas’s eyes, he’s never been under a spell such as this – and never wants to wake from it.

            “I… Cas, I…” He can’t say it. But he doesn’t have to – his lips choosing another method of communication. Dean hovers over Cas’s mouth for a second before leaning forward and kissing him. His eyes flutter shut, and he presses his hands into Cas’s chest. Dean feels Cas return the kiss, pulling him tighter against him.

            They break apart, leaning their foreheads against each other.

            “What?” Cas asks, “What was that for?”

            Dean could write it off as part of their deal. That people were staring, and maybe he wanted to give them something to stare _at_. Return to the cocky and flirty persona that got them stuck in this position in the first place.

            He chooses not to.

            “I wanted to,” Dean says, smiling, “That’s all.”

            Cas smiles, and then glances out into the crowd before looking to Dean. “You know, we’re going to have to socialize a bit more before the main course.”

            Dean raises a brow, “Pretty big crowd. You think there’s a table big enough for all these people?” 

* * *

            “That _is_ a big table…”

            Castiel hides his smirk as Dean takes the large piece of furniture in at all its glory. They let others pass them by, each taking their seat at the table. He recognizes them all. Cousins like Raphael, Bartholomew, and Muriel who offer him nothing more than disdain. Others like Ezekiel and Hannah who nod succinctly before busying themselves with their conversations. He noticed Anna wasn’t attending this year. From what Gabriel told him, she and her husband were overseas and wouldn’t be able to make it in time.

            “It’s not like they mind,” Gabriel said, “They’re ‘spreading the word of the Lord to all the heathens’ as your folks like to put it.”

            He didn’t argue with him. That sounded _exactly_ like something they would say. Was in the same sentiment as the words he shared with them earlier in the study.

            _Balthazar abandoned him after tossing Castiel into the study, shutting the door so there was no escape. He could feel three very familiar sets of eyes, each with their own levels of disappointment and disgust burning into his back. Bracing himself, Castiel swallowed past the discomfort to meet their stares._

_“Well, looks like Luke was telling the truth after all,” Michael starts, raising a glass from where he sits towards Castiel, “You sure are a sight.” Castiel rolls his eyes, used to his brother’s negging. Washington hasn’t been kind to his brother, crow’s feet and creases peppering his face like the gray in his hair. It’s the same color as the suit he wears, with a blood-red tie standing out from all the muted colors._

_“Thank you, Michael,” Castiel says, “You look nice, too.”_

_“That wasn’t what I meant.”_

_“I know, but it’s too early to fight.”_

_“What a touching reunion, boys, really,” His father, Zachariah, says from behind Naomi. He finally looks their way, nonplussed by their contemptible stares. Castiel didn’t delude himself with the hope that maybe there was a change in the years he’s been away. The only thing that’s different is his parents’ looks – time not being kind to them. His father’s head is clear of any hair, and the skin around his cheeks and neck sags. The skin on his mother’s face has suffered under a similar fate, however less noticeable. But the hay-like blonde she’s died her hair makes the liver spots peppering her temples much more prominent, even under her makeup. “But if you’re done,” Zachariah continues, “We really should get this moving along. We’ve already kept ourselves from our guests for far too long.”_

_Castiel sighs, “Because your presence would make this evening any more enjoyable.”_

_“Please, Castiel, if you would refrain from making those kinds of comments this whole affair will go much smoother,” Naomi chides from her protected perch at the desk._

_“But of course,” Castiel chuckles, “Silent obedience made my childhood fly by, it’ll work wondrously for tonight as well.”_

_“Oh, yes, your poor childhood where you were afforded privileges other kids could only dream of,” Naomi sighs, “If you’re done playing the victim, we have a few matters we need to discuss. If you will?” She gestures for him to sit, but he only glares at the chair. “Fine, be obstinate.”_

_“Just get on with it –“_

_“Yes mother,” Michael chimes in, “This whole standoff is starting to bore me.”_

_“Very well,” Naomi says, folding her hands together, “Castiel, we understand that your presence here is not without a… friend –“_

_“My **boyfriend** ,” Castiel cuts her off, “Yes. He’s here.”_

_“Be that as it may,” she continues, face as stiff as her back, “We ask you that you please abstain from any… unseemly behavior tonight. It is a celebration, and we would not want to offend anyone’s sensibilities –“_

_“Excuse me?” Castiel scoffs, “Sensibilities? Just what do you think Dean and I were planning to do tonight?”_

_“A lot of things come to mind, Castiel,” Michael says, “It **has** been ages since we’ve seen you… who knows how **brazen** you could have gotten? And with the scene you caused the **last** time you were here –“_

_“You’re always bringing that up!”_

_“Michael is right,” Zachariah says, “You’ve always been a wild card, and with so many important people here tonight we want you to be on your best behavior. Now… I know we’ve had our differences but it would be a tremendous help if you and your… **Dean** kept at a safe distance.”_

_“And just what is safe, father?” Castiel asks, “No hand holding? No kissing? Would we even be eating together or would you set his plate in the kitchen?”_

_“Honestly, Castiel, you make us sound like barbarians!” Naomi says, “He can still sit with you… just keep a safe distance, like… like at one of your old school dances.”_

_“He never went to any of those, mother,” Michael smirks, raising his glass, “No one ever asked.” Castiel rolls his eyes at the grating laughter that follows his brother’s barbed comment._

_“I’m sorry,” Castiel starts, “But I will not censure myself in front of your guests. If they cannot handle my relationship then they’ll just have to deal with it.” He turns, shouldering past Michael and towards the door._

_“Castiel!” Naomi barks, smile cracking into an angry frown, “Just where do you think you’re going?”_

_“Back to the party,” he says, “And away from **you**.”_

            “There are so many forks…” Dean mutters, eyeing the cutlery warily.

            Castiel chuckles, pulling his seat out for him, “It seems daunting, but trust me, half the people here barely use more than two.” Dean lets him push his seat in before taking the one to his left.

            “Castiel, _Dean_ … it’s so nice to see you again,” Luke greets them from his place between Naomi and Lilith, “I hope you enjoyed the cocktail hour?”

            Dean’s smile thins. “It was okay,” he says, “Didn’t much care for some of the little food you had circling. Like the mess of something on top of a cracker?”

            “ _Canapés_ ,” Naomi corrects, her own smile false and acidic, “I’m sorry it wasn’t to your liking –“

            “Just a personal thing,” Dean assures her, “Even though I didn’t want them doesn’t mean I didn’t see the waiter walking away with an empty tray.” He forces a laugh, but quickly smothers it when no one joins in. “It’s a – it’s a pleasure to meet you, ma’am,” Dean switches tactics, holding a hand out to Naomi, “I’m Dean Winchester.”

            “Naomi DiAngelo,” she tells him, “And this is my husband, Zachariah.” Dean offers his hand, and Castiel watches his father barely contain his disgust as he barely manages a decent shake. “You’ve already met Luke and his wife… and this is our eldest son, Michael.”

            “Always a pleasure meeting a constituent,” Michael nods from beside Castiel, “And I’m not just saying that for your vote.” This earns hollow laughter from the others, save Dean and Castiel. He rolls his eyes at his brother’s ‘joke’.

            “Michael,” Castiel says, “Where’s your wife?”

            “Unfortunately Jo could not be here with us this evening,” Michael says, glaring daggers at him, “Her foundation’s holiday service and meal was tonight, and she couldn’t re-schedule. She sends her best wishes and prayers, however.”

            “What a righteous woman she is,” Naomi sighs, her red-lipped grin stretching from cheek to cheek, “It’s so nice to see her carrying on the DiAngelo legacy of good Samaritan work… that reminds me,” she turns to Lilith, “Dear, didn’t you attend something recently?”

            “…A charity auction,” she says, “For veterans with –“

            “It’s always nice to support our troops,” Naomi says, “Did you win anything?”

            “I – I wasn’t able to,” Lilith stutters out, “I was asked to help _present_ the bids.”

            “Oh… well, at least you were there. And maybe if you were lucky, someone’s trigger-happy finger was able to get a picture.” Naomi turns away from Lilith as their dishes are brought to the table. Castiel watches his sister-in-law scowl into her lap, shoulders rigid. Luke ignores her, chatting with Zachariah. Lilith drains her glass in one sip, holding it up for more before attacking it, too.

            “Cas,” Dean whispers, “This looks _fantastic_.” The steak is adequately sized, but cooked to perfection. And along with its sides has been plated nicely. He sees Dean reach for his fork, but quickly lays a hand on top to stop him.

            “Not yet,” he warns, “We have to wait.”

            “For what?”

            Zachariah taps at his glass, rising from his seat at the head of the table. All conversation stills, attention drawn to the front of the room. “I want to thank all of you for once again gracing our _simple_ home with your presence. It’s been a great year for all of us, and as always, we feel this celebration is a perfect way to close out the year; especially this one, which God has deemed favorable to bless us more than he has in any previous year. Where my son Michael has once again been chosen to help steer this nation towards prosperity, and my other son Luke has been singled out for his exceedingly high success rate in court. Even my daughter, Anna, has made great strides with her missionary work. My children work tirelessly to make the DiAngelo name shine with pride.” The table claps politely. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean join in, albeit with a slight frown. Castiel could care less about the slight in his father’s speech. He hasn’t done anything his father would be proud of in years. Zachariah closes with a short prayer, and they start eating.

            “So, Dean,” Luke starts up again halfway through his steak, “I heard through the grapevine that you teach over at NYU?”

            “Uh-yes… yes I do,” Dean nods, “Been doing it for a long while… pretty nice.”

            “Tell me, Dean, are you one of ‘those’ types of professors?” Zachariah asks.

            “I beg your pardon?”

            “You know, the kind that tries to force your beliefs onto students,” he explains, “It’s a shame how some of these big-name universities are turning into brainwashing cults for the future of our country, really.”

            Castiel notices the frightening way Dean’s eye twitches. “Well, I do encourage _healthy_ debate,” he says, “But I try and steer my students in the right direction when their facts aren’t as credible as they may think.”

            “Now that doesn’t seem completely fair,” Naomi chides, “Just because their facts might not be from the big media, doesn’t mean they’re not true.”

            Before he could say anything else, Castiel moved a hand down towards his thigh and squeezed. Dean slips his own hand down and returns the gesture, re-focusing on his steak. “Well maybe I’ll put more time into checking _my_ sources then… in the future.”

            “So what does that mean for your book?”

            Castiel’s jaw tightens at Luke’s casual mention, glaring across the table at his brother while Dean chokes nearby. The smirk on his brother’s face is a clear indicator of where he wants to steer the conversation.

            “My book…?”

            “You know, the one you recently published,” Luke continues, “How _certain_ you are that all the material in that is credible if you –“

            “I spent a lot of time checking and double checking everything,” Dean fires back, “What I meant to Mrs. DiAngelo wasn’t about that.”

            “Well you must be clearer, Dean,” Luke shrugs, returning to his food, “It’s so easy in this day and age to take _everything_ out of context…” From behind, Kelly passes by, carrying a half-empty bottle of wine, her head down. She doesn’t get very far before Luke is raising his own glass to the side. “Kelly, please be a dear and top me off?”

            “You still have so much wine left in your glass, honey,” Lilith says, “You’ve barely had any to sip –“

            “A full glass is never a problem, Lilith,” Luke chides, watching Kelly as she quickly pours enough to meet the rim of the glass. She tries to leave once more, but a hand on her wrist keeps her there. Castiel notices the flinch Kelly tries to hide. “You’re such a help, Kelly,” he continues, “How long have you been with our family?”

            “…Three years?”

            “Loyalty, an admirable thing to have in these times,” he says, “I’m sure you could have found employment elsewhere but you still choose to serve with us. Even during such trying months as now.” Luke sets his glass down and reaches for a folded bill from within his breast pocket. “Here,” he slips it into the strap of her apron, “For the extra wine…” Kelly doesn’t meet his eyes as she thanks him. She turns on her heel and returns to the kitchen, Luke watching her the entire way. Lilith angrily scrapes her knife against the plate cutting her meal.

            “Luke, don’t go putting any ideas into her head,” Zachariah says after she disappears, “You know how hard it is to find help like her?”

            “Now, now, you know she’ll never leave,” Luke scoffs, “How could she when she has so much _tying_ herself here.”

            “At least she’s keeping the baby,” Naomi adds, “And not taking the sinful way out. She needs to learn that if you choose to engage in sinful and lustful behavior, you should deal with the consequences.”

            “And what of the child’s _father_ ,” Castiel quickly butts in, his eyes never straying from Luke’s, “Isn’t there any consequence _he_ must face?”

            “If only we knew… but why delve _too much_ into her personal life?” Luke laughs, “It’s not like _he_ has to carry the baby.” His laughter nauseates Castiel, enough that he can barely finish his meal. Luckily, the waiters come back out and move them forward onto the second dish of the night – a pasta meal with herb-roasted chicken.

            “I don’t know if I’ll be able to eat all this,” Dean intones, patting his stomach. Castiel turns his gaze towards the other man, smiling at the adorable, put-upon expression he wears.

            “You should definitely try it,” Castiel tells him, leaning in close, “It’ll be worth the few extra pounds.”

            “Says the guy who regularly exercises,” Dean snorts, knocking heads with him, “But I barely get out as it is. I swear if I ate like this growing up you would be rolling me around to get to places.” Castiel giggles at the thought, relaxing. Dean strikes while his guard is lax, and slips his hand into Castiel’s. He plants a sweet kiss to his jaw, and pulls back.

            Castiel watches the unguarded adoration within Dean’s eyes, making them shine like gold-green ornaments. His heart flutters, a feat he thought impossible when trapped behind the ornate prison of his childhood home. It doesn’t last long, his father’s familiar cough cutting through their fantasy. He pulls back to find both his parents glaring at their display of open affection.

            “What?”

            “Really, Castiel,” Zachariah asks, “maybe you should _eat_ before your _food_ gets _cold_.”

            “It can wait,” he says, pulling their joined hand out from underneath the table, “Maybe the cold can do it some good. It’s not wise to eat food if it’s _too hot_.” He punctuates his words with a small kiss to Dean’s knuckles.

            “This is supposed to be a nice dinner Castiel,” Naomi whispers harshly, “Can you please refrain from your deviancy for a little while longer?”

            “Deviancy?” Castiel chuckles darkly, “You mean this?” He turns back to a wide-eyed Dean and plants a strong kiss on his lips, uncaring to the startled gasps from nearby. Leaning back, he finds a dazed and blushing Dean.

            “You ungrateful child,” Zachariah hisses, “Always wanting to cause a scene –“

            “This is not a scene!”

            “Yes, father, it could be worse,” Michael intervenes, playing mediator, “Nothing he could ever do would trump that dreadful Fourth of July.”

            Castiel’s flaring temper burns itself out at the mention of the holiday. He curses at Michael internally, fretfully watching Dean come back to himself, paying attention to the conversation.

            “It can’t have been that bad, whatever he did,” Dean says, looking towards Castiel, trying to be supportive.

            “What’s that?” Luke speaks up now, interest returning, “You don’t know?”

            “Luke –“

            “I mean… it doesn’t matter,” Dean backpedals, “Cas obviously doesn’t like talking about it, and I can respect his privacy if he’s uncomfortable.”

            Luke raises a staged brow. “But don’t you want to know how he killed his own _grandmother_?”

            Dean audibly gulps. Castiel drops his head into his hands, letting a string of curses slip past his lips at his brother’s wickedness.

            “Wh-what?”

            “But why should I spoil such a story,” Luke shrugs, an innocent smile painting a different scene on his face, “Wouldn’t want to make little Castiel here _uncomfortable_.”

            Castiel shudders a deep breath, fighting every instinct he has to leap across the table and throttle Luke with everything he has. If only he wasn’t surrounded by a pack of bloodthirsty lawyers who would sue him into the ground and pick at his carcass once they were finished. Instead he looks to Dean, who has already directed his attention at him. He can see it – the warm emotion quickly cooled to a curiosity, testing the weight of Luke’s words.

            “It wasn’t,” Castiel tries, “It’s not like I _intended_ …” He struggles with the truth, unable to force the words out. “It was an accident.” He just wanted to get his secret off his chest to _someone_. And Gabriel was one of the people he trusted so dearly back then. How was he supposed to know the fireworks would stop so suddenly? What was supposed to be a secret was heard clearly by everyone around him. “I’m gay,” he had practically shouted in the backyard of their house in Long Island. “Her heart – she couldn’t handle,” Castiel continues.

            His grandmother collapsed in the next instant, drawing all attention away from him. Until he was back behind closed doors, where his father yelled and yelled and yelled while his mother wept for her now deceased parent.

            “She loved you so much,” Naomi says, scowling, “Practically inherited her entire estate. And you still choose disobedience? Showing up here with your little plaything, tainting her memory, rubbing it in her face, in our faces –“

            “Alright, I think that’s enough!”

            The spotlight finds Dean now, and every person at the table focuses on him. Even the wait staff has paused in their walk-about. Castiel waits for him to continue, wondering what Dean plans on doing. It looks like he’s having trouble dealing with the party’s attention, but even the weight of their gaze doesn’t stop him.

            In the ensuing silence, Zachariah tries to wrest back control. “Just what do you think you’re doing –“

            “No, I think you’ve said all you needed to,” Dean continues, his voice steadying, “All of you. I can’t _believe_ the _hostility_ I was a witness to tonight. You’re all supposed to be a _family_! Now, Cas didn’t talk much about where he came from… but I gave him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was embarrassed or didn’t have much to say – it wasn’t my place to judge. But after tonight, I _completely_ understand why he didn’t bother me with it. You’re all talk – the lot of you! You don’t love each other; you’re only together because you make yourselves ‘look good’. That’s not what being family is about. You’re there through the good and the bad… making sure that at the end of the day the people you care about are happy, even if it’s doing something you don’t understand; because that’s all that matters. Not money or votes or _conversions_. I’m glad I got to see where Cas grew up because it makes me all the more thankful he came into my life. Because he was able to see what a _family_ should look like. Become part of a _true_ family who cares for him. And I’ve never met anyone in my life who deserves it _more_.” He pushes himself away from the table. “Now when you’re making your resolutions for the New Year, I hope you add ‘being decent _fucking_ human beings’ to the list.” Dean storms from the room, and towards the hall, ignorant to the outrage he’s caused at the table.

            “Castiel!” Michael looks to him, “Are you just going to let him speak to us this way?”

            “No,” he says, turning to his ‘family’, “Because I don’t control what my boyfriend chooses to do or not do. But I support him… and completely agree with everything he just said.” Castiel follows in Dean’s wake, leaving with his head held high, and a smile on his face. 

* * *

            ‘ _I can’t believe I just did that. I can’t believe I just did that!_ ’ “I can’t believe I just did that…”

            “Neither can I.”

            Dean startles, turning as Cas walks down from the stoop, Dean’s coat in hand. When he catches sight of it, the season chill works its way up his blazer. “Thanks,” he says, shrugging into it with Cas’s help.

            “Funny,” Cas says, leaning in close, breath ghosting across Dean’s ear, “I was about to say the same to you.”

            Dean blushes, stepping back into the other man’s warmth. “Oh?” he feigns ignorance, “And what for?”

            “For what you did back there,” he tells him, “I’ve never had someone step up and defend my honor so publicly before. Especially in a room full of people who could collectively ruin your life.”

            The other boot drops pretty heavily on Dean’s head. “Shit,” he hisses, “shit shit shit shit shit – they can do that?”

            “I mean, probably,” Cas starts, “But I was – I was kidding? It’s not like they can try – I have too much on _them_ that would ruin their lives if they even tried anything with you.” Dean relaxes at that, sagging into his waiting arms.

            “Good,” Dean sighs, “Because I don’t think I have it in me to start over anywhere else. My apartment is too good.”

            “Is that so?”

            “Yeah,” Dean smiles, turning in Cas’s embrace, “Although it does get rather lonely… especially around the holidays.”

            “Does it?”

            Dean hums. “Wish there was some way to fix that…”

            “Well,” Cas starts, “There might be –“

            “Ahem.”

            Their bubble bursts. Gabriel hops down the steps, joining them. Dean takes a step back, uncertain as to what’ll happen next. He was cool earlier into the party, but after the stunt Dean pulled, his hackles are raised.

            “Down boy, down,” he chuckles, “I come in peace!”

            Cas raises a brow. “Gabriel? Just what are you doing out here?”

            “Well, for one I needed some air. You two made it so tense in there, I could barely _breathe_! I mean – I’ve never seen Uncle Zach so red!”

            “I’m glad this was entertaining for you Gabriel,” Castiel says blandly, “Makes my life _mean_ something –“

            “Alright, stow the sass, mic drop,” Gabriel says, “the real reason I’m out here was to say I’m sorry.”

            “…Come again?”

            “Sorry for… dropping off the map,” Gabriel starts, pocketing his hands. “Especially after what happened with ol’ Granny. You needed a friend and I wasn’t there for you, I… I did a bad thing.”

            “Gabriel,” Cas whispers, “I don’t… it’s not –“

            “I was a coward,” he continues, “I thought that if I kept my head down I could just avoid getting involved in any of your parents’ crap. But by doing that I turned a blind eye to a lot of shit and that’s… look, I’m really out on a limb here and – and you don’t have to accept my apology or whatever but I just wanted you to know if you ever needed a friendly shoulder or – whatever – I’m here now.”

            “I don’t know what to say…” Cas says, rough voice thick with unshed tears, “Gabriel… when I left this place I figured I’d never see anyone from my old life ever again. And I was ready to accept that to… to not have a family anymore. I wasn’t going to miss my mom or my dad or _any_ of my siblings but… you and your father… you two were probably the best parts of my childhood and I… I’ve missed you so much.” Cas tosses his arms over Gabe’s shoulders, and with the way he’s shaking Dean thinks he might be crying. It’s easy to see the tears welling up in Gabriel’s eyes.

            “Cassie… I missed you too, man,” he says, “I didn’t think you’d ever want to see me again. I wanted to visit but –“

            “It doesn’t matter,” Cas sniffles, pulling away, “We can start again.”

            “Definitely,” Gabriel smirks, turning his attention from Cas to Dean. “You,” he points, “You are one of the bravest people I know. I’ve probably heard all those ‘guests’ say mean things about their hosts, but none of them would ever think of saying it to their faces. It takes guts.”

            “Thank you?” Dean chuckles, “I didn’t think I had it in me but… hearing them talk about Cas like that really… it really set me off. How they could say good things about skeezeballs like Mike or Luke is beyond me. Cas has more honor and goodness in his thumb than either of those two have in their whole bodies.”

            “That so?”

            “Totally,” Dean nods, “He’s one of the best people I know.” His heart swells thinking about Cas, and he finds he can’t control his filter, and starts pouring out his admiration. “He’s got this weird sense of humor that always makes me laugh… and I’ve never seen anyone besides my brother or my dad get so worked up talking about acid rock… and he’s so kind. Like, he’s willing to go the extra mile for strangers! Even…” he pauses, words catching in his throat, “Even if any sane person would say no…”

            “Boy do I wish I had one of you,” Gabriel chuckles, turning to a wide-eyed, “You’re a lucky man, Cassie. I’m glad you found someone who makes you happy.”

            Cas says nothing.

            “Alright,” Gabriel takes a step back, “They’re probably about to serve dessert. And I _seriously_ don’t want to miss that. Triple layered chocolate cake with ice cream and whipped cream? Look forward to it every year! Cassie – take my card. Tootles!” He jumps back up the steps and disappears behind the doors.

            “Wow…” Dean says, “Looks like the sweet tooth thing is genetic…”

* * *

             ‘ _Even if any sane person would say no…_ ’

            Castiel’s good mood crashes and burns to the ground with Dean’s words. Turning all the praise the other man lauded at him turn to ash in his mouth. He feels his stomach churn with despair to hear the kind words he doesn’t deserve. All are reminders that the relationship between him and Dean is nothing more than a lie.

            And you cannot build _anything_ on a lie.

            Gabriel exits in a blur, and by the time he blinks back into awareness, Dean is looking at him oddly, and there’s a card in his hand.

            “Cas?” Dean asks, “Cas you alright?”

            “What? Oh, yes… yes…”

            “So…” Dean drawls, “Should we… get out of here? Go back to my place?”

            The thought of going back there sets his nauseous stomach into overdrive. He takes a step back and breathes deeply.

            “Cas?”

            “Let me,” he starts, tearing his gaze away from Dean, “Let me hail a cab.” Castiel walks towards the street, holding a hand out, trying to flag down a taxi. He feels Dean move behind him. Luckily, a cab pulls to the side for them before the other man could do anything.

            Castiel opens the door for Dean. “Such a gentleman,” Dean chuckles, sliding in. However, the mirth dies when Castiel closes the door before getting in.

            “What the hell?” Dean asks, rolling down the window, “Cas, what are you doing?”

            “I’m sending you home.”

            “Why? Why aren’t you getting in the cab?”

            “Dean, I –“ he chokes on his words, already hating himself for what he’s about to say, “I can’t go home with you.”

            “Can’t… or _won’t_?”

            “I can’t and… I _cannot_ continue this any longer.”

            “What are you saying?” Dean leans further out the window, “What – what happened?”

            “I’m calling off our deal.” The words sink to the pit of his chest, crushing his heart into a fine powder. He sees Dean’s face shift as well, crumpling like a used tissue. But he can’t stop now. Castiel slips a stoic mask onto his face to hide how much he’s breaking inside.

            “Cas –“

            “We’ve gone too far, Dean,” Castiel says, “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. From the second we started this whole thing it’s been off the rails. And I… I can’t take it anymore.”

            “You… you can’t,” Dean whispers shakily, “Was it… was it because of me? Did I overstep –“?

            “Dean… oh, Dean,” Castiel kneels to the ground, “If you did overstep, I wasn’t complaining. I enjoyed _every_ moment of our time together... and if I could, I’d never wish for another second apart.”

            “Then why are you sending me _away_?”

            “Because I’m not who you think I am,” Castiel says, looking away, “You said all those nice things about me, but they were all _damned_ lies. I’m not kind or sweet, I’m… I’m a DiAngelo. I thought I was above the tactics of my family but no matter how different the packaging, the product is still the same.”

            “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

            “I _used_ you, Dean,” Castiel says, “The only reason I took you up on your offer was because I didn’t want to be alone for the holidays for _once_. Because I wanted to experience Christmas with a family instead of a bunch of strangers I lock up for drunk and disorderly. And at first it didn’t matter to me that it was a lie… but then I got to know you and your family and you were all so nice to me and,” he shudders, “and I don’t know how I can live with myself once it all comes out.”

            “It doesn’t have to,” Dean tells him, “We can just keep it to ourselves and see where it goes –“

            “I know what it’s like living with a _lie_ , Dean,” Castiel says, “It eats and eats away at you until you’re nothing but a shell. I can’t _do_ that again!”

            “Not everything was a lie though, Cas!” Dean yells, “It wasn’t… it wasn’t all a lie…”

            “I know,” Castiel nods, mask cracking, “But a lot of it _was_.”

            “Please don’t do this Cas,” Dean reaches for him, crying, “Please please please please please…”

            Castiel stands, pulling away from Dean. He moves towards the driver, who politely looked disinterested throughout the entire conversation. Castiel rattles off Dean’s address and hands her two hundred dollar bills. “Thank you.”

            “Castiel,” Dean tries one last time, “Don’t do this…”

            “I wish nothing but the best for you, Dean,” he says, “Hopefully one day you find someone who truly deserves you.” Castiel can’t watch as the cab pulls away, tugging his trench coat tight against him as he walks towards the nearest subway.

            ‘ _Alone again_ ,’ he thinks, ‘ _Just what I deserve_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the DRAMA! Hope you liked it!


	14. Cuffed to Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a DOOZY!!!!
> 
> All the FEELs, all the DRAMA - I hope you love what I cooked up, because it's gonna be GREAT!!!

            Dean wanted to die.

            Maybe that’s a tad extreme. Death seemed a little overkill, but it was the only thing he could think of that could dull the serious ache in his heart. Alcohol didn’t work. Not in the long run. He might have drunk enough to ensure a ‘peaceful’ rest the night before, but the severe headache rocking his head wasn’t worth it. Especially since it now works in tandem with the shattered remnants of his heart piercing his chest to take him down.

            Even now it’s knocking loudly, almost like someone’s –

            _Bzzt Bzzt!_

            “Guh…” Dean pulls his head out from under his pillow, turning a bleary eye to his nearby nightstand. His phone lights up before slowly fading back into blackness. He tries to ignore it, but before he can turn it buzzes once more. “Fine,” he groans, groping around for a beat before he clumsily knocks it closer.

            _From Sam-squatch:_

            _Let us in._

_From Sam-squatch:_

_Seriously, this isn’t funny. **:[**_

            Dean frowns at his phone, swiping out a quick message that – in no simple terms – would send his brother away. He wasn’t in the mood to see anyone, and at the top of the list, behind a certain blue-eyed idiot, was the entirety of his family.

            His phone sounds once more before Dean throws it to the ground and buries himself like the ostrich he so desperately pretends to be. There’s still pounding from his outside door, but he does his best to ignore it and suffocate himself.

            He thinks he might have succeeded when the sound stopped, but his hopes are dashed when he hears Sam’s oafish footsteps entering. ‘ _No,_ ’ Dean thinks, clutching the pillow tighter, ‘ _I don’t wanna deal with this today…_ ’

            His bedroom door swings open with a “Dean, this isn’t funny –“ and a “Sam, be nice –“. It’s not long before he feels his pillow hauled from his grip, and his blanket torn from his body, exposing him.

            “Christ, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, tossing over, “Anyone teach you manners?” His brother glares at him from nearby, next to an equally exasperated but slightly concerned Jess. She’s glancing around the room; trying to avoid looking at the empty bottle of Jim Beam he left lying on its side.

            “I’d ask the same of you,” Sam says, “Seeing as I’m not the one hung-over in the afternoon?”

            “It’s the afternoon?” Dean asks, rubbing at his eye, “Damn… still too early.”

            “Dean!”

            “Shuddup will ya, you’re more annoying than usual when I got a hangover,” Dean grunts, trying to stand. He stumbles like a newborn fawn; nearly falling onto his face, but quickly recovering. He parts between the couple and grabs the empty liquor bottle, walking towards the kitchen. They trail behind him.

            “This isn’t funny Dean,” Sam starts, “You were supposed to meet all of us for brunch. Mom called you, like, fifteen times? She was starting to freak.”

            Dean doesn’t turn to look back, knowing his brother’s disappointed bitch-face would be dialed up towards eleven. He feels the same, hearing what his sad bender did to their ma.

            He opts for ignorance, filling the bottle up with water, hoping humor could Band-Aid the scar of his actions. “As you could see, I was a little _busy_.” He takes it and sips, enjoying the hint of bourbon in the water.

            “What the hell’s wrong with you, man?” Sam asks, whirling him around, “You’re being more of a jerk than usual.”

            “Sorry if I’m upsetting his royal highness, but you’re the ones who broke in. Deal with the consequences.”

            “We didn’t break in,” Jess pipes in, “we used your emergency key.” She holds it up for him, letting him snatch it from her. “You might want to pick a better hiding spot.”

            “It’s not like I can leave a rock out there,” Dean sighs, kneading his brow, “Look, you see I’m alive all right? Now get out of here, already and get ma’s fingers off 911.”

            “You’re lucky she didn’t call Cas,” Sam says, “Imagine if he found you like this?”

            ‘ _Cas’._ The name twists the knife ever deeper into his gut, and his face drops into a snarl. Memories from last night resurface: his brush-off, his excuses, even the sad cab ride home where the driver tried to hook him up with her cousin as a rebound. He shakes his head and chokes out a watery laugh. “I’d like to see her try,” he says, eyes downcast and away, “Bastard probably wouldn’t even answer…”

            “Dean…” Sam says, voice now calm and curious, “Did… did something happen?”

            He huffs, fighting back a sob. “No, Sammy, I drank myself into oblivion for fun!”

            Jess rubs a comforting hand on his back “Dean, take a deep breath. I know you can do it.” He sags into her touch, forcing a huge gulp of air between his teeth.

            “You were with his family last night,” Sam says, “Did they say anything?” Like always, Sam tries to piece the clues together. He’d be making fun of the metaphorical red string hanging from his brother’s hand, but he’s not in the mood to be a picture on a corkboard.

            “They said a lot,” Dean tells them, “Not so much about me but Cas… they were really tearing into him. I couldn’t… so I told ‘em off –“

            “Whoa,” Sam gapes, “Dean… that’s… I wouldn’t expect that from you.”

            Dean nods. “It was horrible, the shit they were saying, how could someone talk like that about their son… or their brother?”

            “Did Cas not like that?”

            Dean snorts. “He loved it. Was so happy that I said what I did… even had his cousin call me ‘brave’ but then… after…” he shudders, “he called it off.”

            “What?”

            “He called it off,” Dean repeats, hearing the words for the first time from his own mouth, driving the jagged edges out of his throat. He laughs, startling the others. His voice rushes out of him then, getting louder, almost hysterical. “Ended it. Called a cab and sent me home alone where I’m pretty sure you can guess what happened next!” Dean collapses in on himself, racked with the finality of Cas’s actions. He presses a hand against his eye, failing to dam up the tears before they could flow.

            “Dean,” Jess kneels, pulling his hand away, “Dean it’s okay… let it out…” His bottom lip quivers, and his shoulders shake. He doesn’t like the pity he sees in Jess’s eyes, but the worse sight is above, where Sam still has his ‘detective face’ on.

            “What?” he barks out, disrupting his brother’s thought process.

            “I’m just… trying to figure this out.”

            “Figure _what_ out,” Dean asks, “I think it’s pretty clear what happened.”

            “It’s actually not, Dean,” Sam says, “Cas dumping you – just like that? Something must have happened –“

            “Yeah, he finally came to his senses,” Dean scoffs, backing from Jess, “Decided he couldn’t be with someone like me anymore.”

            “Don’t say that,” Jess pouts, “Sam might be right. Cas wouldn’t just dump you without a reason. You two were so in love… it reminded me so much of Sam and I when we were first dating…” The words push the sharp scraps of his heart even further into his chest. He looks between his brother and her, their sad, hopeful looks driving him towards madness. ‘ _I know what it’s like living with a lie, Dean_ ,’ Cas’s words from the night before flutter back to his awareness, ‘ _It eats and eats away at you… nothing but a shell_.’

            Dean’s tired. The lying, acting, and dreaming – fluttering between the ‘boyfriend’ act and the act of pretending he and Cas were really boyfriends. All his Hallmark planning has left him hurt and alone – nothing like the movies.

            “We weren’t…” he murmurs, curling into himself, arms tight under his chest.

            “Weren’t… weren’t what?” Sam steps in, “Happy? In love?”

            “We weren’t together!” Dean shouts, “Not… not really.”

            “What?”

            “It was all an act,” Dean starts, the truth pouring out of him now, “We were just _pretending_ to be boyfriends because I knew when you all would get here you’d see how sad and alone I was and go on and on about how I need to put myself out there and find some nice girl. It’d be annoying and so… so _not right_. I figured with Cas by my side I could get you off my backs _and_ let you in on my thing for guys without having me actually… actually _say_ it.” He sighs. “Like a damned coward.”

            “You… you what?” Sam asks, he and Jess shooting him twin looks of confusion, “It was… fake?”

            “I mean… it was,” Dean continues, “But I actually really started to fall for him. That’s why this hurts so much. Because I was really starting to… to _love_ him and – and I thought he was feelin’ the same back. But then he tells me we can’t be together no more since he can’t deal that this all started because I was too drunk to go home and he was too nice to leave me to fend for myself. But look where we are,” he cries, wiping at the tears at his chin, “Hung-over and with a broken heart.” His knees buckle, and he collapses. Sam barely catches him in time, easing the fall. They’re on their knees, Dean sobbing into his shoulder. “I’m so stupid,” he whines, “Stupid ‘n’ scared… of course it was never going to work…”

            “Shh, Dean, shh, it’s gonna be okay,” Sam says, pawing gently at his head, “That’s okay… let it all out.” He feels Jess join them, wrapping her arms around his back, and squeezing.

            Soon enough, he emotionally dumps everything out of him, drained. Dean doesn’t fight the weight pushing him back into unconsciousness. 

* * *

            Castiel knows he can’t fit anything else inside his stomach. That doesn’t stop him from shoveling red-and-green frosted store-bought cookies into his mouth. They were the last bit of pastry he had left in his house after his huge binge trip at the 24-hour grocery store he went to last night. Castiel bought them in a last-minute impulse, only seeing the cookies for their sugar and not their taste. But now he must deal with his consequences, chewing around dry crumbs and overly processed vanilla paste. ‘ _It’s what I deserve_ , ** _Good_** _desserts are for people who don’t lie and use others…_ ’

            Bad people like him should never have anything sweet in their lives. They never appreciate it. The only thing he gets is the memory of sweetness while he descends into a bland hell. Warm gingerbread, soft chocolate chips, the feeling when Dean would nip at his lips before pulling away –

            ‘ _Stop it_ ,’ he scolds himself, ‘ _Stop thinking about him_.’ An order, like most, he doesn’t follow. His whole world has revolved around Dean until now, and he cannot figure out how he used to get by when the other man was just a stranger to him. ‘ _But I need to. Because he’s never coming back after what I’ve done._ ’

            _Knock Knock Knock_

            Castiel glances over at the door, startled by the sound. He doesn’t move, trying to shift the gears into motion, guessing whom it could be. ‘ _No one really knows where I live_ , _except Dean but… no_.’ Another series of knocks snaps him out of his stupor, spraying crumps all over his faded-tee and worn sweatpants. “Coming! Coming…” He stands, shuffling past empty containers of cookies and donuts and cupcakes towards his door, flinging it open.

            When he sees what’s waiting for him on the other side, Castiel quickly tries to slam it shut. Sam’s foot crushes his plan of escape.

            “Not gonna be that easy,” Sam says, stalking into the room, followed by Charlie and Jo: all three of them like war-weary soldiers readied for combat. Castiel stumbles backwards, tripping over the clutter and back onto his seat with an ‘ _oof_ ’. He stares up as the others circle him, their once friendly faces now harsh, judgmental masks. While Sam and Charlie stare into his soul, Jo scowls at the mess.

            “Christ,” Jo starts, “I thought you were supposed to be rich? This place looks like shit.”

            “That’s – um… _I’m_ not really, my parents are… I don’t,” Sam’s glare seems to pick up in intensity at his fumbling. “You know what? It’s not that important.”

            “You,” Sam snarls, lowering himself to Castiel’s height, “have a lot of _nerve_ doing what you did.”

            He sighs. “I’m – I’m sorry that I had to do what I did, but trust me when I tell you it’s better I do it now so Dean can move on.” His words startle the once gentle giant, a flicker of dumbfounded shock shining like a sunbeam through his rage storm. But it’s gone in an instant.

            “After all he did for you, though,” Sam continues, grabbing Castiel by his collar and dragging him forward, “Are you telling me it didn’t mean a thing?”

            “It doesn’t matter what I _felt_ ,” Castiel grumbles, now matching Sam’s pique, “If you knew the full story, you’d know why I had to call – to… to break it off –“

            “Dude,” Charlie cuts him off, “we _know_. I mean, like, _I_ knew already but… Dean told them. _Everything_.”

            “Actually Dean told Sam and Jess,” Jo explains, “And Sam told all of us.”

            Castiel’s amazed. “He… he told you?”

            “And that’s why we’re here,” Jo says, “You’re lucky it’s us though, and not one of our folks –“

            “Yeah, Ellen was eyeing up one of Dean’s carving knives really spooky like,” Charlie tacks on, “If Mick wasn’t blocking her path to the kitchen –“

            “Although that doesn’t mean we came empty handed.” Jo pulls a tiny switchblade out from her back pocket, grinning evilly. Sam and Charlie take a step back, with Castiel falling, once more, on his ass.

            Castiel’s eyes are fixed on her blade. “Jo, may I remind you I _am_ an officer of the law.”

            “Put that down!” Charlie hisses, snatching Jo’s wrist. “I thought I took _all_ your weapons! My search was very thorough –“

            “Not thorough _enough_ –“

            “Will you two quit it,” Sam tells them, “We’re not here to stab him.”

            Jo scoffs. “I thought you said you wanted to look threatening? What’s more threatening than a knife?” She waves it around for emphasis, until Charlie rips it out of her hands.

            “If you are all done,” Castiel interrupts, drawing the focus back to him, “Can we get back to the matter at hand. Dean, he… he _told_ you of our machinations?”

            Sam nods, mouth set firm in a grim line. “From how you met to how you sent him packing.”

            “And now you’re here,” Castiel sighs, “Seeking retribution.”

            Charlie shrugs. “More or less.”

            “Then let me make this easier for you,” Castiel stands, head hung low, “I have caused all of you so much trouble… it’s only right you have some sort of revenge against me. For fooling you all… a few bruises are the least of my penance.”

            He closes his eyes, bracing for any sort of impact. Castiel knows that any blow they dealt would only hurt temporarily. There’s no wound too gruesome they can inflict on him that he hasn’t already done himself.

            When too much time passes without even a punch, Castiel opens his eye to find the three of them all staring at him, uncomfortable.

            “Well?”

            “Well what?”

            “Isn’t someone going to hit me?”

            “We wanted to,” Sam says, “but…”

            “But?”

            Jo rolls her eyes. “You ruined it.”

            “What?” Castiel blinks. “I… _ruined_ my punishment?”

            “Yes.”

            “…How?”

            She groans. “By doing this. Being all… weepy and shit. It’d be like kicking a man while he's already downed.”

            “But – but I lied to you,” Castiel says, “Our time together tainted by the false origin Dean and I created, made you think I was somebody who I… who I wasn’t. Isn’t that enough reason to cause me harm?”

            “Cas… we weren’t mad about the lies,” Sam tells him, “If we had to be angry at _anyone_ for that, it’d be Dean. We’re here because you broke my brother’s heart.”

            And in that instant, Castiel’s breaks as well.

            “W – what?”

            “He’s back at his place acting like his date for the dance stood him up” Jo says, “And _you_ were the date!”

            “I… I don’t…” Castiel has no idea what he can say. He knew Dean had not taken his decision well. When he cast the other man aside, Dean looked at him as if he had been shot. And from what the other were telling him that is exactly what happened – and Castiel pulled the trigger. “He’s not upset because I… I called our plan off?”

            Their shared looks of incredulousness point him in the right direction. “He was - _is_ ,” Sam tells him, “Because he said you rejected him.”

            “Reject him?” Castiel barely registers his own laugh. “I wasn’t… I would never turn him away, willingly. Dean is one of the most amazing people I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.”

            His explanation doesn’t aid in easing the tension in Sam’s face. “Then why do it?”

            Castiel can’t look at them as he explains. “Because it’s what’s best for him. Family means everything to Dean, I saw firsthand how much he loves you all and the – and the stress he was under trying to make you happy. If we did continue as we were, I doubt he’d ever reveal our truth to you, and he’d have to carry that lie with him every time we’d meet. Or, to make it easier for himself, he’d create more and more distance until you all rarely saw each other.” He musters the courage to peek at them from behind his lashes. “I’ve divided one family – I’d loathe to do it again. Especially to one I respect like yours.”

            His speech is met with silence. Sam, Charlie, and Jo look to each other, pulling away from Castiel while they confer. He’s not sure what they’re talking about, but knows whatever the outcome of their discussion it’ll greatly affect him. His only hope is that they choose to move past bodily harm and issue him a restraining order like any sane person would after a stranger infiltrated their holiday celebration through deceit.

            His jury returns, and Sam once more takes the lead. “We have a question for you.”

            Castiel shrugs. “The least I can do is answer it.”

            “Besides the backstory… was it real?”

            “…I beg your pardon?”

            “Was it all an act? Were you just playing a part for us or were you… yourself?”

            He considers the question, reflecting on the whirlwind of days he spent in Dean Winchester’s presence. “From an early age, I was forced to conform to the role my parents’ chose for me. And as you can clearly see, I’m not one to stick to a script. Although I wasn’t really… _anything_ , after my family and I parted ways. I was drifting, from day to day, drowning in my routine, just trying to survive with my head above water. Meeting Dean… getting to know him… it was like I was learning about myself as well. Maybe for the first time. So… to answer your question, I would have to say yes. What you saw was real. What I felt… what I felt was – was _real_.”

            He wipes at the tears before they could fall, praying the others didn’t see the crack in his well-crafted mask. It doesn’t seem like it worked, however. There’s sniffling, a watery cough, and a large paw claps him on the shoulder. Castiel looks up to Sam, the other man’s eyes as watery as he thinks his are.

            “Cas,” he says, “if that’s true then come back.”

            “What?”

            “We don’t care about how you met or – whatever story you cooked up for us. All we wanted was for Dean to be happy. And that’s what he was when he was with you.” Sam’s face is so earnest, Castiel almost believes him.

            _Almost_.

            He draws back from Sam’s hold, smoothing over any emotion he might have shown, trying to be strong. “I… I think it’s better for both of us if he never sees me again.”

            “But Cas –“

            “No,” he says, praying his voice doesn’t crack, “Even if you don’t care it doesn’t erase why this all started. Dean – he’ll hurt for a while, but I’m sure it will pass in time. He’ll realize I’m not worth any of the tears he’s crying, and one day Dean will meet the right person who’ll fit the fairytale we tried to be.” Castiel reaches for the necklace Mary gave him, still with him – one of the final reminders of his time with the Winchesters. He hands it to Sam. “Maybe they’ll be worthy of being a Winchester.”

            “If you just go see him –“

            “Please. Let’s just… make it easy for all of us. For him.” Castiel takes Sam’s hand and puts the necklace in it, squeezing tight once before letting go and turning away from them.

            He hears them leave. Charlie, muttering under her breath, “They deserve each other – low-self esteem idiots…” There’s a whack, and the sound of footsteps trailing off, and finally the shut of the door.

            Castiel almost falls to the floor, the heavy weight of his actions crashing down onto him, too much to bear. He shoulders it, and doesn’t bend. Instead he shuffles over towards his room, to his nightstand. Mary’s gift was the second to last thing he had to remind him of Dean.

            The last thing was the photo of Dean he took not that long ago. Castiel studies it, frowning, contemplating what he just did. He told them letting go was the easiest way out – a clean break.

            But there was no chance of this mess ever being clean. The pieces have broken in such a way it’ll take years to find before the dust settles.

            Castiel hopes he’ll be at peace with the choice he made when that happens.

* * *

             It’s dark. Dean isn’t sure how long he’s been out. After crying himself numb earlier, Jess walked him over to his bed while Sam dealt with their family. Dean hasn’t moved since. He’s let himself wallow in his despair, watching his ceiling between blinks. They varied in length: sometimes his eyes would be closed for a half of a second, and other times he’d come to staring at the same, beige plaster.

            There’re other things he could look at, but he doesn’t feel like turning. He didn’t when Jess came back in with a glass of water, or when Ellen asked if he wanted a slice of pie. He couldn’t even tell his own father if he wanted to watch the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve special with them. Not that he did, anyway – all of the singers were foreign to him and Ryan Seacrest sucked ass.

            There’s rustling on the other side of his door, and it opens once more. It’s shut soon enough, although his intruder remains. They flick the lights on, bathing him in unwelcome light. Dean hisses as it burns his eyes.

            “I’m sorry baby,” Mary coos, walking over to him, “I didn’t want to trip while I… well, stopped by.” She walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge. Dean takes her in – the rumpled sweater, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, the loose ponytail with hair escaping every which way, and the red puffiness under her eyes. He thinks he might look the same, but staring at the mess he is would only deepen the horrible feeling he’s trapped himself in.

            The silence over takes them. Dean would let it ride, content to bask in the nothingness, but Mary won’t. She fidgets, her hands rubbing up and down her legs, searching for something to say. “It’ll be midnight soon,” she starts, “The time just flies, doesn’t it? I feel like it was yesterday we were back home in Kansas… waiting for the ball to drop. Bobby and your father playing cards while Ellen harassed Jo over something. Jess sitting on Sam’s lap on the big chair, while you and I made fun of all the acts – it hasn’t been the same since Dick Clark passed away…”

            Her laugh floats across the room, trying to tug Dean into the memory alongside her. He doesn’t budge. Instead, he continues to examine her, and comes to a startling conclusion – ‘ _She doesn’t know what to do_.’ Mary Winchester is finally at a loss. No matter what problem they came to her with, she’d always have an answer. And if there was nothing going wrong in your life, she’d still have some opinion about it. But now, alone together in his room, he realizes that his ma’s finally run out of ways to help him.

            And that brings on another round of tears.

            “Dean, Dean? Oh no… _no no no_ …” She drags him upright, pulling him into a hug. He buries himself in her shoulder, shuddering, trying to let the familiar smell of her lull him back to safety. But it’s been ages since childhood, and it doesn’t have the same effect anymore. “Hush now, baby boy, I’m here…”

            “I – I’m sorry…”

            “What?”

            Maybe it’s all the emotions, or that same bone-crushing tiredness from before, or maybe Cas was right all along. In that moment, Dean decides he can’t run away from this confrontation. And so he speaks what has been on his mind from the beginning. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth – any of you. I was scared, so scared. And because of it I did something dumb like use another lie. I never meant for any of this to happen I just… I just didn’t want to be such a huge fuck-up.”

            “Dean Henry Winchester you look at me.” She pulls away, hands cupping his face warm but firm. Her eyes were alight with fire and unshed tears. “You are, and have never been a fuck-up. You’re my special little boy; you have been and always will be. And nothing you could do could make me love you any less than I already do. So you have nothing to apologize for here. In fact… if anyone deserves one it’s you.”

            Dean furrows his brow. “Me? But I… I lied to everyone. Got your hopes up with Cas –“

            “You wouldn’t have done that if it weren’t for me.” Her hands drop, and she folds in on herself. “When Sam told me what happened, do you know who I was angry with? Not you for lying… and not Cas for leaving… the person I was most mad with was – was _myself_.”

            “Ma…”

            “I was too damned _pushy_.” She starts to cry, and she wipes her tears off with the back of her hand. “And all I did was push you away. I just wanted the best for you, but I went about it all wrong. I was trying to give you the life I thought you wanted when I should have let you choose what made you happy and accept it. Maybe if I had realized it sooner this wouldn’t have happened…”

            Dean sniffles. “You did though. Growing up, I don’t think I could have had a better mom. You were there for me when I needed you, held my hand when I was scared, cleaned me up when I was hurt,” he gestures between them, “sat with me when I cried. I don’t know how much more messed up I’d be if you weren’t here, even if you like to… _smother_.”

            That earns a wet chuckle from her. “I just hate to see my baby in pain. Even now I couldn’t handle being so close but so far away – unsure of what to do, even if I should _do_ anything.”

            “But you still came.”

            “I had to. Dean, what I did, I hope you can forgive me. From now on you’ll here nothing from me about relationships or being single or grandkids. _Mum_ is the word.” She mimes zipping her lips shut, and Dean finds himself giving her his first, genuine smile for the day.

            “I will, if you can forgive me for using Cas as a… _buffer_ instead of doing what we’re doing right now: talking.”

            Mary shrugs. “You were never good with words, even when you were young. Always preferred to let your actions speak for themselves.”

            “…Yeah.”

            “There’d be times where you’d just jump right ahead into whatever you felt, and we’d all have to catch up.” She’s reminiscing again, smiling, “We never understood why you were smiling but that was all that mattered, wasn’t it? Except you got older… and you started smiling less and less. You stopped diving headfirst into things and kept yourself at a distance, not really enjoying anything. I’m sorry I didn’t push _then_. That I didn’t do enough, and let it get this far.”

            “It wasn’t your fault, ma,” Dean tells her, right back there with her in the past, “I couldn’t have you knocking down every kid who made fun of me. They’d have to shut the school down for low attendance, anyway.”

            “I’d have done it anyway, you know,” she says, “We all would have. Because the day you stopped smiling, it was like we’d lost touch with you – and we didn’t know how to get you back. That’s why we were so thrilled about you and Cas, because when you looked at him it would be with that _same_ grin I remember seeing on your face when you’d be playing with Jo and Sam or reading your comics, or even _dancing_. I wanted it to be me who did it, but I’m glad _someone_ was able to bring it back out.”

            Her words only serve to hollow Dean out even more. “But if he’s gone… does that mean I have to go back to the way I was? Does that mean I’m done being happy?”

            Mary’s smile doesn’t fade, and she takes Dean’s hands in hers. “There is no way you’ll ever be going back to who you were before. Love changes us; it helps us grow. Like a wildfire, it burns everything away. Clears out all the dead logs and branches, making room for new life to blossom. Sure, it’ll still be a forest, but it’ll be different. The changes might me small, but it all adds up, and you’ll find you’re stronger than you were before. And you’ll be glad you let yourself be consumed by it.”

            “When though?” he asks, a few more tears starting to slip out, “When will it stop hurting?”

            Mary pulls him into another hug. “That’s for you to decide when you’re ready. _If_ you want it to stop hurting at all…”

            He tries to process. But her metaphors leave him more confused than when they started, and the loud countdown assaulting him from all sides (the other room, above, outside his window) leave his mind a mess. When he hears the one he thinks he feels a slight press on his cheek, but his ma’s turned too far away for her lips to have been there.

            Mary stands. “You should get some more rest. We’ll talk more tomorrow before we leave.” She’s about to walk away, only she pauses, and reaches into her pocket. “I almost forgot, Sam… went out earlier, with Charlie and Jo. Don’t yell at them, they only did what they had to because they care about you.” She shows him Cas’s necklace, and drops it into his hands. He has a million more questions, but fears the answers to all of them. So he chooses the simplest.

            “What am I supposed to do with this?”

            “Hold onto it, keep it, give it away,” she shrugs, “It’s up to you. I think you should start asking yourself what you _want_ to do.” Mary leaves him then with that final pearl.

            Dean pulls it up by the chain, staring at the dangling medal. ‘ _What do I want? That’s the easy part… Do I deserve it? That… I’m not sure of_.’

            He reaches over to his nightstand; digging through the papers to find the hidden photo of Cas he saved. Dean splits his time looking between it and the necklace.

            He falls asleep with both in his grip. 

* * *

            Castiel watches the building, even as the chill and the wind picks up around him. The cold is of no import to the revelers, everyone lost in their own little worlds while they ring in the New Year. If he weren’t rooted to the spot outside Dean’s apartment, Castiel would have fallen back into his training – scolding the more enthusiastic partygoers and keeping the peace. But now, it takes everything within him to not faint from fright.

            The countdown begins, and the roar of drunken shouting blends horribly with the shrill thoughts buzzing around in his mind. Before, it seemed like a good idea to rush through holiday traffic from Manhattan to Queens. Romantic, even, to find Dean and kiss him at midnight, granting them luck in the year to come.

            ‘ _But that’s not how this ends, is it? Not for me…_ ’ He lets the time run out, and as a consolation prize for his cowardice, he brings the picture of Dean up from his pocket and to his lips. He’ll never come close to the real thing again.

            Castiel walks a few blocks away before calling an Uber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that sure was a journey! I'm glad you all came along with me, I had a fun time writing this story and it wasn't easy to do. What with starting it last year and ending it...
> 
> Wait? Did you really think I'd leave them like that? No, I still got one more chapter planned ;)
> 
> Until then!!


	15. Cuffed to the End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the FINAL CHAPTER!!!
> 
> Enjoy!

_2 Months Later_

            Dean hasn’t had the greatest year. He spent the first two weeks of it barely leaving his apartment, with Charlie and the delivery people his only contact with the outside world. But soon enough classes started back up again, and he ventured into the wilds of Manhattan. Since then he’s divided his time between campus and home – only straying to meet Charlie for lunch. He didn’t really speak as much to anyone else, either. Dean was avoiding his professor-friends, too embarrassed to look them in the eye. They had cornered him one day, in the halls, and asked about his vacation.

            ‘ _The truth, Dean, remember – it’s that new thing you’re trying?_ ’ Dean ended up confessing his plot to them as well, and apologized for lying. They took it well enough; more upset Cas and he were no longer together. Chuck was the most hurt. He watched the other man process it all from behind his desk, sitting across form him like a delinquent student. “If it was all an act, it was a very good one. I don’t think I’ve seen my nephew so happy – even as a child.” That opened up a fresh wound.

            What made it worse was that Valentine’s was the day after. His students probably enjoyed their day off, though. He didn’t. The cashier at the nearby CVS pitied him while checking him out. ‘They’re for me’ was apparently the wrong answer when asked about who the ten boxes of hearts were for. ‘ _…Honesty.’_

            At least his relationship with his family has gotten better, the only upside of this crazy mess. Dean took to checking in every week or so with everyone. Their conversations weren’t long, and a lot of it was just recapping what was done, but it felt nice keeping in touch. He had let his bonds deteriorate long enough, and was working towards something stronger. It would get somewhat easier, thankfully, after a surprise call from Sam.

            “Our apartment’s too small for a kid,” he said, “And my firm is thinking of opening a branch in Midtown with _me_ as the boss… so we were thinking upstate – or maybe on the island.”

            They made plans to house-hunt in March, so Dean isn’t wasting away during Spring Break. He’s already been so busy, he’s afraid for any free time. It might give him crazy ideas like tracking Castiel down and cursing him out or, worse, begging for love. It’s bad enough he still has that picture of him and that _damned_ necklace.

            Castiel hasn’t had the best time with things, either. He hadn’t the luxury of extra vacation days, and on the third day of January was back to work with Meg. She didn’t ask about Dean, and he was glad. Instead, they focused on each other, and building from the ground up a friendship they could be proud of. There were some slips, however.

            Like whenever Meg would mention Charlie. Castiel was surprised the two were still going out, as the redhead seemed hurt to be used. “I talked with her, after,” she explained one night, each three drinks deep at a local bar near the precinct, “Told Charlie it might have started out like a sting, but I really did dig her. She’s so _nerdy_ and _not cool_ at all but the fact she doesn’t care what people think _makes_ her cool and – I’m really lucky, Clarence.” Her ‘you could be, too’ was unspoken, but he heard it.

            ‘ _If only we all had those chances_.’

            But his friendship with Meg wasn’t the only distraction he had. Gabriel followed through with his promise, and they had monthly dinners whenever they could. Since neither of them were that fancy, it was mainly takeout in Castiel’s apartment while they watched movies and caught up. Castiel broke the news about Dean the first time. His cousin was shocked. “And you just let him drop?”

            “It wouldn’t have been right,” Castiel sighed, “Even if there was something there, it couldn’t have lasted… not with the lie hanging over our heads.”

            “Well, it seems like it’s not there anymore. So what’s stopping you?”

            “Gabriel, please drop it. I’m sure he’s moved on by now.”

            “Have you?”

            “I… yes.” He clamps down hard on his rice, avoiding the other’s smarmy face.

            His cousin doesn’t buy it. “So then why do you still have a photo of him? Posterity?” Castiel whirls around, glaring at how smug Gabriel acts, waving the Polaroid around. He snatches it from his hand. “You were in my room?”

            Gabriel shrugs. “It was right next to the bathroom.” After sufficiently beating him into submission with his pillow, Castiel made Gabriel promise no more talk of Dean. And by their second dinner, his cousin was two-for-two.

            So because of their both equally rough times, they weren’t surprised by the turn of events for their days. Dean woke up late, and couldn’t even drive Baby to work – having forgot to fill her up the last time he was out. The trains were, like always, shitty, but surprisingly his students were, too. No one remembered their papers for the first class, and by the last one he was tired of answering questions about a coming exam he let everyone leave ten minutes early. Castiel had to deal with three calls, with two ending in arrest and one that knocked the air entirely out of him. He was sure there would be a bruise on both his front _and_ end, to Meg’s amusement. Finally, on his way out, Crowley had barreled past him, knocking his coffee all over, leaving a huge stain on his white dress shirt.

            But he still needed coffee. And there were no cups left for his Keurig, just a note saying ‘Sorry, pay you back later – Gabe’. So after changing into something more comfortable, he walked to the nearest Starbucks.

            Dean craved coffee as well. If he was going to survive the MTA one more time, he needed a grande cup’s worth of the stuff.

            It was too late to walk back out when he noticed the familiar tuft of hair and trench coat two spaces ahead of him in line. ‘ _Crap_ , _no no no no no… it can’t be…’_ But it was, confirmed when Castiel gave his order: his voice reawakening all the nerves Dean thought he’d killed off by now.

            Castiel noticed Dean too late. He couldn’t very well leave now that they were working on his order. He spotted the other man after placing it, saw how he tried to look like he wasn’t watching him. ‘ _Right_ ,’ Castiel thought, ‘ _he works around here… how could I have forgotten_.’

            ‘ _What should I do?_ ’ Dean worries, advancing towards the register, ‘ _Ignore him? Ask how he’s doing? Pick up one of those weird cheese sticks they have here for some reason and walk out and throw myself into traffic? No, that last idea is too crazy – I don’t want my death associated with those things._ ’

            Castiel is lost in his own head, too. ‘ _If he tries to talk to me should I act like I just noticed him? He has to know that I know he’s here. Did he come to this specific Starbucks because he knows I live in the area and he wanted to see me? No, that’s insane – and too good to be true._ ’

            Dean gives his order and steps away, backing as close to Castiel as possible without bumping into him. ‘ _Would it be weird if I say hi? Hello? I’ve been thinking about you everyday and staring at your number hoping you’d call?_ ’

            ‘ _I’m sorry it ended like it did – we could have been friends? No, that’s a lie… friendship would only have been **worse**._ ’ Castiel sighs, eyeing Dean as the other man holds himself awkwardly. Stiff, like he’s ready to bolt out the door the second he hears his name called.

            He has to be the bigger man, and show Dean he’s doing okay – even if it’s not true right now. It will be, and that’s what he keeps telling himself. What gives him the courage to say, “Hello, Dean”.

            Dean startles. “Cas? Wow… small world.”

            “Indeed. How is everything?”

            “You know… it’s _going_.” Dean cringes. “Work’s keeping me pretty busy. You?”

            “Very much the same. It’s… good to be busy.”

            Navigating the awkward landscape of this conversation is too much, tiptoeing around the words they wish to say. They welcome the silence, preferring it to a horrifying misspeak. But in that quiet, they express their truth through other ways. In the way Castiel smiles, just being in Dean’s presence once more. Or how Dean’s fingers drum against his leg, anxious to reach forward and touch. But their eyes are the loudest – staring into each other, like old times. Even if the world’s changed, there are still a few things that remain the same.

            ‘ _God I miss him.’_

            “Dean?”

            They turn. The barista is holding out his coffee, waiting. He looks back to Castiel. “Simple order.”

            “Of course.”

            Dean grabs it, and starts to walk away. He tries waving to Castiel, but it’s too impersonal. He doesn’t know how to end their talk without just walking right out of the store. It’d be what the other man deserved, but Dean can’t do that. He can’t say goodbye.

            ‘ _I don’t **want** to say goodbye._ ’

            “Dean?” Castiel asks, “Are you –“

            “You don’t have anything to do after this… do you?”

            He catches Castiel off guard. “No, not really. Why?”

            Dean swallows down his fear, and plows ahead. “Do you want to… talk?”

            “Is that not what we were just doing?”

            “No,” he chuckles, “I mean _really_ talk.” There’s no hidden meaning in his words. Castiel understands. He’s surprised Dean would want to take that step, but knows he deserves it. ‘ _It might be the thing he needs to take that final step_ ,’ Castiel reasons.

            “Let me just get my order.”

            They move towards Washington Square, taking a seat on an empty bench. The sky is a muted grey, slowly darkening as the minutes tick by. The branches are still barren, and poke through the air with their withered, gnarled fingers. There isn’t that many people out at this time, but those who are stay bundled in their coats.

            “So…”

            Dean scans him, taking in the way Castiel holds himself. He’s hunched over, focused too intently on his coffee. Like he’s been beat down, and expects Dean to land the finishing blow. ‘ _Honesty_ ,’ he repeats to himself, ‘ _Say what you want… and hope it’ll all work out._ ’

            “I understand what you were trying to do.”

            Castiel whirls on him, expecting a lot of things but not that. Dean smiles at him, and sets his heart at a rapid pace. “You… what?”

            “You were right… about the lying. I _would_ have just kept it going and… _ignored_ the real problem.”

            “And…”

            Dean rolls his eyes. “And I’m not anymore, _obviously_. You were there when the Three Musketeers came a-calling. Actually, I’ve been doing this thing where if I feel something I… I tell someone and _don’t_ let it fester and rot inside of me. Been working out pretty okay, actually. Turns out people _want_ to help you through your problems.” He shudders out a laugh. “Now I’m in a good place with my ma… and I’m – uh… doing a lot of inside-looking.”

            “Has anything come from this introspection?”

            Dean nods. “That I’m responsible for my choices and my own happiness and… _Cas_ , I – I don’t see any of that happening without you.”

            “Dean…”

            “You did a shit thing leaving me like that, to deal with my _feelings_.” He nearly crushes his own Styrofoam cup with how tight his grip is. “But I was shitty, too. I’m no saint. I was willing to lie to make my folks feel good because I’m terrified of conflict. That if I spoke up they’d see I wasn’t at all what they thought and they’d… leave. It’s why I didn’t tell you how… _real_ it got for me. We were pretending for my family but they weren’t the only ones who got fooled. I fell for you completely.”

            Dean’s words are everything Castiel had wanted to hear, and that’s why he’s so scared. “Dean… you shouldn’t. I – I…” He has a defense, but any cool retort burns up in the fire of Dean’s passionate gaze.

            “Please, it took me so long to realize being selfish ain’t so bad sometimes.” He reaches out for Castiel’s hand, delighted when the other man doesn’t tug it away. “I want to be with you, not because it’d make my parents happy or get them off my back, but because I _like_ you. Hell, I think I’m on my way to _loving_ you, even after all that happened.”

            “I’m not… Dean,” Castiel wills himself not to cry, but the tears traitorously slide down his face. “You won’t like what you see, now that there’s nothing _forcing_ you to be by my side. It’s better for you –“

            “I know what’s good for me,” Dean cuts him off, “Have you asked yourself what’s good for you?”

            “I… My feelings in this don’t matter –“

            “Of course they do!” Dean cries, “If you tell me that you didn’t feel a single thing while we were together; that it was just me and nothing else, I’ll leave. I’ll have closure. But I don’t want to hear you say it because you _think_ it’s what I need. I want to hear what you _want_.”

            Castiel waits a beat. “You’ll get over me in time…”

            “Cas, I don’t _want_ to get over you. I don’t think I can.”

            He can’t pull away from Dean. He’s been drawn into the orbit, and even in this wintery night, Castiel feels warm. Like Dean was the sunshine he’s been waiting for in his cloudy life. There’s so much he doesn’t know. Like if it’ll work out between them. They’re both broken, and at times they might push their jagged edges into each other, scarring one another. But then again, all their pieces might fit together, and create something even grander than before. There’s no telling if their story will end perfectly or in flames. But what he does know is that he wants Dean. He wants him in his life, wants his love, and has him fill up all the empty spaces in his life.

            “I don’t,” he whispers, squeezing Dean’s hand, “I don’t want to get over you, either.”

            “Then what have we been doing?”

            “I… I don’t know?” His sobs turn to laughter, and Dean joins him. They garner a few stares – two grown men, with bleary eyes, clutching to each other like lifelines and laughing for no reason. “We’ve been idiots…”

            Dean sighs. “I’m used to it, but I figured you were smarter.”

            “You’re the professor.”

            “Being a professor means shit for brains,” Dean says, “I know a couple of dumbasses who teach. You had all that money – must have gotten a great education.”

            “Money can buy a lot of things, but a brain is not one of them.” Castiel pulls Dean closer, tucking him under his arm, “If it did, then I would have left you to your own devices all those weeks ago.”

            “You wouldn’t.”

            “And how do you know that?”

            “Because you have something else money can’t buy.” Dean slips his hand under Castiel’s jacket; happy he can touch the other man so freely again. “A heart.” It pumps wildly in Castiel’s chest, and makes Dean’s beat in double-time just to keep up. He’s amazed how easy it was to return to this, when only earlier the thought of Castiel would send him spiraling and towards his office where he’d wallow in the dark. Not to say that there won’t be any more moments of dark. He’s not that much of a fool to think the hard parts are over. Just enough of one to not realize what he thought was hard was actually one of the easiest things he’s ever had to do. Like the rock sitting on his chest was hollow and easily pushed to the side. Dean feels lighter, younger… and _playful_.

            “Hey Cas?”

            “Yes, Dean.”

            “So… I have family visiting again…”

            Castiel raises a brow. “You do?”

            “Yeah,” Dean bites down on his smile, “Sam and Jess are coming down around March during Spring Break. And after this huge fallout with this… amazing guy, they’ve been kind of worried.” He hopes Castiel takes the bait, and the breathy chuckle is a sign the other man’s been hooked.

            “Amazing? To let you go he’d have to have been severely misguided but…” his eyes twinkle, “His loss my gain, I suppose.”

            Dean’s grin threatens to tear his face in two. “I’m glad you think that way. But so they don’t spend their _entire_ time with me looking after me, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

            “What is it?”

            “I was hoping you could be my boyfriend for a bit – y’know, so they can focus on house hunting?”

            “Like in those Hallmark movies?”

            “Yeah, but you have to promise not to fall for me. Them’s the rules.”

            “I think that can be arranged,” Castiel hums, “We’ll have to spend an awful amount of time together, learning our different quirks and interests. Make it look believable.”

            “Of course.”

            “I do have one request, though.”

            Dean shifts, to look Castiel in the eye. “What is it?”

            “That rule you made?” Castiel smiles, leaning in close, “I get to break it whenever I want.”

            “Always, Cas.”

            They seal their plan with a kiss. Dean feels the fire Mary talked about, spreading over his skin, scorching him. Burning away all the pain and doubt of the past and making space for the future garden he’ll grow together with the other man. Castiel feels sparks, coursing through his veins. He closes his eyes and sees everything glow, a sign that from here on out things will be brighter. After a while they pull apart, panting, foreheads pressed against one another.

            “I do,” Castiel sighs, “Have one question for you, Dean.”

            He hums.

            “What do we do when Spring Break is over?”

            Dean giggles. He starts peppering Castiel’s face with kisses. “There’s always Easter,” _peck_ , “Fourth of July,” _peck_ , “Thanksgiving,” _peck peck peck_. “That’s the beauty of holidays, Cas, we’ll always have another one around the corner.”

            “And I can’t wait to experience everyone with you, Dean,” Castiel says, kissing him once more, “For as long as you’ll have me.”

            “Then I hope you’re comfortable, Cas, because you signed up for a lifetime deal with no warranty.” Castiel laughs as Dean pulls him into another searing kiss.

            They stay on that bench, lost in each other, and content never to find their way back out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, all of you, who stuck with me throughout this long process. I know I started this story back in December of 2017, but I'm glad it took me until now to finish. If I kept rushing ahead I don't think I would have managed to make this story work the way I wanted to, and would have missed out on some great moments.
> 
> So here's to a completed fic!


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